Robb at the Crossing, Part IV

Flight

Robb woke with a start. Walda was entwined about him sleeping blissfully, still slick from their love making. As well as he could without moving he looked around the chamber. Grey Wind was stretched out before the hearth, the coals glowing dimly. He watched until certain the great wolf was breathing. Through the window the brightest stars still shown, though the sky had brightened. What was it? He felt something amiss. There was a muffled sound outside the door. Gently he shifted Walda off him. She mumbled something and then fell back into a deep slumber. He quietly stood up, pulled his tunic over his head and drew his sword from its scabbard. He stepped softly to the door and placed his ear against it; he heard breathing and a shifting of feet. He gripped his sword tightly and silently lifted the latch.

"Robb? Robb? Are you there?" It was Theon's voice.

He opened the door part way. Theon stood there in a robe, wearing only his small clothes underneath. "Robb, thought I'd find you here! Hope I'm not interrupting anything." He nudged Robb in the ribs.

"Damn you, Greyjoy; that hurt!" He tapped Theon on the jaw.

"Ouch! I took that cut for you, Stark."

"And you'd better have a good reason for waking me; I was ready to take someone's head off," Robb said hefting his sword.

"Well," began Theon, edging around Robb to get a glimpse inside the room, "your grand or is it great uncle kicked in my door and then asked most politely if I might know your whereabouts."

"He's just nuncle to me. Do you know what this is about?"

"Oh no, seems I am not privy to such matters. But I told him I had a good idea where to find you."

"So where is he?"

"In the small chamber."

"Get dressed and meet me there."

As Robb turned, Theon caught sight of Walda standing beside the bed wrapped in a blanket. He grinned.

Ser Brynden sat on the edge of the table, head down. Robb thought he might be sleeping and knocked on the open door. He looked up. "You wait outside Greyjoy."

"No," Robb said, "I want Theon here. Whatever you have he needs to hear, too."

"As you will. There's been a raven. I thought it best not to wake your mother."

Robb took the slip of paper Brynden handed him.

He read, This day at Baelor, King's Landing, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, The King's Hand, declared Joffrey Baratheon the true and rightful King, and then was executed for treason.

Robb handed it to Theon. He then drew his sword raised it over his head and cleaved a chair in half.

Theon sunk into a chair beside Brynden. 'They killed him after he bent the knee? Was this some joke of that little shit?"

"Ned must have known what was intended. He would only have done so for his daughters' sake. He was no craven. When he learned that the Mad King had killed his father and brother he chopped down a tree with his sword. It was a big tree. It took an hour. But it cleared his mind. Robb, we have more chairs."

Theon quickly stood up. Robb made a sound something between a snarl and a howl and resumed chopping. "So Theon Greyjoy, where did you find him?"

"Why would you care to know?"

"I had hoped he spent the night with that little she-wolf. He deserved one night of uncaring pleasure. Any after today will be burdened with hatred and sorrow."

"Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion!" CHOP, Robb's blade sang.

"She-wolf, that's what you call her?"

"I've heard the men. And wildling maid, spearwife, ear-cutter, dragon girl, and others less proper."

"She-wolf is good. With those eyes she could be Grey Wind's littermate."

"Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion!" CHOP, Robb's blade rang.

"Stay with him until he returns to himself. Tell him I will have the council waiting at 9 of the clock. So, was he?"

"He did not lack for pleasure this night."

Walda followed the directions a guard had given her. She walked around the castle and up many flights of stairs. At the end of a long hallway was a heavy oaken door. She knocked; and knocked again. After some time she heard the bolt being removed from the other side. The door creaked open and an old man in gold trimmed brown robes studied her with rheumy eyes. "Yes, my lady?"

"Please excuse my intrusion. I am Walda of House Frey, daughter of Walton, granddaughter of Stevron."

"Yes, yes; I know who you are. What is it you want? High-born never visit here."

"Maester Vyman, I have an interest in ravens and would be grateful if I might see yours."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Yes, yes; please enter." He opened the door wide and motioned Walda in with an outstretched arm. "Ah, ravens, remarkable birds; please come this way. We must go to the loft." Inside was a large chamber with a ceiling of massive oak beams. There were shelves filled with books, tables covered with books, chairs piled with books, the floor itself was buried in books except for narrow corridors through which one must tread carefully lest the sides collapse. Walda could see where some such passages ended in jumbled heaps of books. They passed through an archway blessedly free of books, and then up a spiral stairway. As they ascended she could hear a racket of crucks, croaks and caws. The sounds increased steadily until the stairs ended on a small landing. Maester Vyman removed a key from under his robe and unlocked the door. "There, there my friends, you have a visitor this morning." There was a strong odor of ripe droppings. Large cages lined the walls each with a dozen or more black-winged ravens. Two birds were free in the loft. One swaggered across a table to investigate Walda.

"How many do you have in your flock, Maester?"

"Where is that boy? The cages must be cleaned and the birds fed. Oh, my lady, you asked something?"

"I asked how many …"

"92 this morning belonging to Riverrun; another 26 from other flocks. The siege has interfered with their return. Until yesterday those Lannister ruffians were shooting at any ravens near the castle. We lost several. A shame. Our guests will be on their way home shortly."

"And which might they be?"

"Just here in these two cages."

"Can you tell by looking to which flock they belong?"

"Ah, my lady Walda, can't you?"

"Perhaps, but it would take a while and there is little time."

He pointed to a particularly large and robust bird on a perch all his own. "One of Grand Maester Pycelle's birds. Notice how lustrous the feathers and the brilliance of the eyes. He was named Rhaegar when the prince lived. It is said he knows the names of six castles. He is the one you seek."

"You know much, Maester Vyman. Do you have any questions?"

"Only a warning. If you attempt this you will be taking a great risk."

"Then will you help me?"

"At the Citadel many years ago a young man, a crannogman, most unusual, studied as an acolyte. He worked especially well with the white ravens and would have had an excellent life as a raven maester. The archmaester set him an assignment to improve the training of the birds by the ancient way. It is said he learned how to enter their skins and fly as a raven. One bird he had a special affinity for. The archmaester found the young man seemingly asleep in the cote and the raven missing. He never wakened and quickly wasted away. Some say he became one with the bird and decided flying free was better than working for men."

"Maester Vyman, was this man in love?"

"We are a celibate order but love can come to any of us. This man I do not know."

"Perhaps he had no one to come back to."

"Ah, Lady Walda, your love needs you greatly. If he should lose you, too, I fear for him."

"He is blood of my blood. I will return."

"It may not be a matter of wanting to return. In warg lore it is said that if a creature should die while possessed the skinchanger may not wake."

"Good maester, there is risk every day. Flying with brave Rhaegar may be safer than hunting Lannisters." She placed a finger between the bars of the cage. The raven rubbed his beak against it and spoke, "Lannister! Lannister!"

"You have done this before?"

"Never." She quickly kissed his lips.

His back straightened and expression softened. "My, it is true. I shall do what I can, Lady Walda."

"Please bring me all …. a small, minute portion, the very distilled essence of what you have concerning King's Landing and the Red Keep. And I ask you to keep me safe whilst I dream."

"And how long might that be? There will be a search unless they believe all is well."

"A woman may always absent herself for reasons men care not to know. Leave me here with Rhaegar for an hour. I will return at sunset."

Ser Brynden stood outside the council chamber speaking with Greatjon Umber and Rickard Karstark. He stopped when he saw Walda hurrying by. "My lady, a moment." The others turned and seeing her, both made grand bows. "My Lady." She responded with a graceful curtsy that brought smiles to the lords.

"Yes," Umber whispered to Karstark, "I saw it with my own eyes. The wolf chose her!"

"My lady. May we speak privately?"

"Certainly, Ser Brynden. How may I serve you?"

He escorted her by the arm into a quiet alcove. "You have heard?"

"Much has happened this day. Of what do you speak, good ser?"

"The council has named Lord Stark King in the North."

"That … that is a very old title. I'm not sure what it may mean in this age."

"It means Westeros is split and good King Joffrey rules a rump realm, for a short time."

"He'll likely shit his pants when he hears. I should like to see that."

"Hah! Quite so, the raven will depart today."

"Best if the message is sent by the same bird that came with news of Lord Eddard's death."

"A nice touch, that. I will so inform Maester Vyman."

"His name is Rhaegar … the bird that is."

"You know a bird's name but not that your Robb is now a king?"

"I learned in the Twins that there's always one Frey who does not get the word."

"Well said! I should tell your great-grandfather that next I visit him in the dungeons."

"He lives still? A pity."

"His fate waits on Lord Tully. My brother may not take his chair again, and Edmure has not yet found his feet. Chains have weakened him."

"I grieve for Lord Hoster, and more for Lady Catelyn. She came here to see her father before he passed, not to mourn her husband first."

"There is one thing that may ease her pain, a marriage."

"I do so enjoy weddings! We've had so many."

"We dance, my lady. Bluntly said you and Robb must marry and quickly."

"He'd be wiser to wed my young niece. She will inherit the Crossing."

"Legacies may mean little when this war ends. Robb needs a strong consort, now, and an heir."

"Kill Lannisters and have babies? You expect much of me, Ser Brynden. I should much prefer to complete the former before attempting the latter. If you mean lay with Robb I need no leave for that."

"Clearly now, you would be his Queen?"

"I would be his whore; I would die for him. We are closer now than you know. You must excuse me. I have an urgent errand. Good day, ser."

Lady Catelyn sat quietly in her chamber, as stiff and rigid as the chair. She held a white kerchief in her hands. She twisted and untwisted it repeatedly. Her eyes were red but dry. Her lips would quiver and then she'd bite them.

"My Lady Catelyn, may I enter?"

She nodded without looking up or speaking.

"Yesterday after the battle you asked me if I knew anything of your husband and daughters. I … I am so sorry!" Walda sank to the floor before Catelyn and wept.

Catelyn looked at the young girl before her. She leaned forward, placed her hands on her head and raised her face. "Last night I woke to the sound of raven's wings. I feared, I hoped. And then I heard the wolves. Somehow I knew then but fought to deny it. When Robb came to me as the sun rose, he couldn't speak and did not have to. I read the raven's words on his face." She kissed her cheek and hugged her hard. It all broke then. Catelyn wailed and the tears poured from her eyes. "Ned, Oh, Ned!" She knelt on the floor and the two women embraced and cried together.

Time passed and the sobs subsided. Walda finally spoke. "A raven brought this sorrow. A raven may bring good news of Arya and Sansa. I can do this."

Catelyn wiped her eyes with the kerchief. "I believe I know your meaning. To risk your life to bring me some word of my girls? I cannot ask that of you. I forbid it!"

"I have been with Maester Vyman. The raven's name is Rhaegar! He is magnificent. I do this for you and Robb, but know this: I would fly for myself alone!"

"My girl, who are you?"

"Why, Walda Frey, of course. It is only that Robb freed me, and now I live."

"You were with him last night. Thank you."

Walda smiled. "No secret that. And now you must explain to him that my time has come early, the flow is heavy and I need rest. Maester Vyman will care for me; you may visit. Tell my love that I will return to his arms in only a few days and not to feel guilty."

Rhaegar rested easily in Maester Vyman's grip. He cocked his head to the side as the Maester spoke soothingly to him. "Red Keep, Rhaegar; Red Keep."

The Maester placed the bird upon a perch before the open window. Rhaegar flapped his wings and twisted his head around to stare at the humans."Cruck! Red Keep, Red Keep, Cruck! Cruck!" The young woman was reclining on the couch. Her eyes were closed but Maester Vyman could see that they were moving rapidly beneath the lids. Her breathing was deep and rhythmic. She smiled. "Fly, Rhaegar! Fly Rhaegar!" he commanded. The raven hopped up, spread his wings wide and brought them down again in a swift thrust, feathers curved and extended to capture the greatest volume of air. Two more beats and he was soaring free above Riverrun. Walda laughed.

It was nearly midnight. Rheagar brought his wings in close to his body and dived, gaining velocity. The dimly lit courtyard below raced up to meet him. Suddenly he canted his tail feathers and his wings gave a powerful flap. He shot upward. At the apex of the climb, he flipped unto his back, stretched his head backward and dove again. He flattened out just above the rampart, completing the loop, and banked into a wide turn to the left. He flew on his back again searching for the familiar star patterns. But it was very cloudy and he could make no sense of what he glimpsed through the occasional, shifting holes. He had found Riverrun the night before by following the glistening surface of a river. He flipped over and searched below. There was water, yes, but multiple paths. Which one to follow? He flew now in a great circle around the castle sensing the subtle tug that meant north. It grew stronger, then gradually weaker. He turned and flew back until he found the tipping point. He stopped, flapping vigorously and hovered. He had flown with the tug on his right before, now he must fly with it on his left. He looked again and found the correct route. This was always his favorite moment of a flight, finding his bearings. To celebrate he did three quick barrel rolls and an outside loop. Red Keep, Red Keep, the voice repeated.

Rhaegar was not alone. He had known something was different about this flight from the moment the Riverrun man had commanded him. It was hardly the first time he'd flown with a companion. The Red Keep man would release him each year to fly free with the female. For a day and a night they would soar together, link talons and spin down nearly to the ground, kick themselves apart, roll and loop. Properly excited they would perch high in a tree and couple repeatedly until exhaustion. He would bring her nuts and berries, a fat squirrel. Then they would court again. What chicks they had he never knew. But she was there again each year, for life. The man named her Elia.

He could not see the Other. Rather he felt her under his feathers, inside his skin. Normally such a feeling would prompt him to preen and peck to rid himself of a louse, tick or speck of grit. But this feeling was not an irritant; rather it felt pleasant. The Other knew his name, and praised him, brave Rhaegar, beautiful Rhaegar. And there was a happiness, a joy that he never knew in the grim men who handled and directed him. It was how he felt with his mate.

In the fields beside the river the carrion smell was strong, more so than the previous night when he paused to investigate. The crows feasted. Vultures, buzzards and other scavengers had been drawn from far afield. There was plenty for all. He descended in a wide spiral. There was much activity at several locations. Not just birds but four footed creatures as well, bears, wolves, wild dogs and boars tore into the bodies of men. Sharp eyed, Rhaegar spied one corpse lying in a cranny, quietly ripening, almost untouched but for a few flies. He landed on its chest. The eyes were open. No, Rhaegar, no! Red Keep, Red Keep! The Other was not like Elia; she would have relished such a treat. Reluctantly, he took flight.

"Mother," Robb implored, "I must see her before we march. I will worry about her constantly!"

"Like all young women, and many not so young, she is vain about her appearance. She insists that you not see her in her time. To me she is more beautiful than ever. There is some bloat, a small facial blemish or two; a might windy, to be sure. There are leaks and rising gorge. And of course there is a bit of blood, and the odor that accompanies it. Otherwise she is radiant. But she would have you remember her as when last you parted."

Robb smiled at that memory. She had been warm and fragrant of love. But then, "Mother, you don't think … I may have done something in my ignorance that precipitated this sudden affliction?"

"Certainly not! She even asked me to tell you not to feel the least guilty. When you return she will be rested and eager for your embrace. She will be well cared for by Maester Vyman, and I will be with her as much as I may."

"So be it, then. Ser Brynden will remain here with a strong force to keep my ladies safe."

"Robb, is that prudent? He is your finest captain of horse. Better to have him at your side when you meet Tywin."

"Well, we do differ on small matters of tactics. But the Kingslayer is still at liberty. He might yet pull some men together and create a threat. Brynden is the best man to trap him. Besides I think he is smitten with Walda. Greatjon told me he overheard them laughing together over some jape."

"He is also insistent that you wed for the good of the realm."

"Aye, the realm. That will take some getting used to. If Walda will have me, nothing would please me more. I long to take her to Winterfell. Bran and Rickon will love her. Sansa and especially Arya would too… Seven Hells! There will be no time for celebrations while Joffrey lives!"

"Robb, she asked me to give this to you. Keep it close." She handed him a small purse of blue leather with a silver chain.

He took it from her gently and opened it with care. Inside was a lock of golden hair.

"She also asked me to tell you it was washed."

Walda found the steady wing beat and cool night air soothing. She felt herself drifting. For a time she thought of other things, of Robb's strong hands and his flaming lust she had ecstatically quenched in her body. She was brought back to the moment with a start. She sensed it, approaching fast, ice cold and deadly. Rhaegar, danger! The raven responded instinctively, with a snap roll to the right, and an inverted, vertical dive, with a reverse turn. The huge pale shape passed through the point he had occupied an instant before. Its frigid draft sent Rhaegar spinning. He pulled out and glanced up. The creature was already turning, ready for another pass. The skies had cleared and the moonlight briefly silhouetted an enormous eagle. It screeched and dove to kill. Its eyes glowed an intense blue. The raven swooped down, then a steep climb into a barrel roll and another dive, all the time jinking left and right. The eagle missed again, this time by a feather's breadth. Rhaegar's beak darted out and wrenched a primary from a passing wing. This swung him around and suddenly he was on the eagle's tail. Hanging on with his talons, Rhaegar attacked with his beak, ripping out feathers, but drawing no blood. The eagle rolled over and violently brought a wing around batting Rhaegar away. The raven tumbled down struggling to regain control. He had fallen half-way to the forest below before his wings could bite into the rushing air. The eagle hurtled after him talons extended. The battle had run much too fast for Walda to be of any help. But suddenly she understood. The eyes, the eyes! Rhaegar dove for the trees, wings tucked in; the eagle a few lengths behind. Then, almost imperceptively the raven slowed. He could feel the eagle's icy breath. Its talons were reaching. Rhaegar brought his wings forward and braked, somersaulting up and over the eagle's head. His talons locked onto its neck. He drove his beak into the eagle's left eye. But there was no pop, no spurt of fluid. The eye was hard and crystalline. He drove his beak in farther and twisted sharply. There was a crack and the eye shattered into a thousand icy splinters. The screech of pain filled the night. Awake, awake! The trees below fluttered as myriad black eyes looked up. The eagle contorted and with a huge talon reached back and tore Rhaegar from its neck; and brought him around to bite off his head. The two birds had fallen to treetop level when the forest canopy erupted and they were enveloped in a cloud of furious ravens. The eagle had to protect its remaining eye and needed both talons. It dropped the prey and fought its way out of the angry flock. Nearly frozen Rhaegar landed on a tangle of branches and looked up. The great bird was sprinting from the swarm of harassing ravens.

Walda's body lay in a warm room, a blanket pulled up around her chin; still she shivered uncontrollably. She reached out with her mind and met a wall of cold hate: Winter is coming, wolf bitch.

Rhaegar rested until dawn and then climbed to an upper branch, spread his wings wide and faced the sun, basking in its warmth. Red Keep, Red Keep. He jumped into the sky and found the river. From here he knew to follow the flow and for a time keep the sun to his front. Soon he would come to the tall stone bower men had fashioned where the path along the river and the one from the north met. There he would turn in the direction of the sun at midday and follow the path to the great roost of men, where at its highest point the Red Keep stood guard.

The Other was still with him, but quieter now and troubled. He climbed swiftly to a great height, folded his wings and let his momentum carry him a little higher. For a moment he hung in the air, no sound but the whisper of a breeze. Then he nosed over into a spiraling dive, rolling and spinning, faster and faster. "Cruck! Cruck! Wal-da, Wal-da!" he called. In a distant chamber she wept tears of joy. My dear, dear Rhaegar.