Hello again. Here is another chapter of Stranger's Fire.

One thing before you read it; I've messed with the time line a tiny bit in this chapter but bear in mind George R.R Martin himself has said everything that happens isn't necessarily chronological, so this isn't a stretch.

I hope you all enjoy. If you do, please express your interest through Reviews, Favourites and Follows.

Without further delay... here you go.

-()-()-()-

It had been a long time since Eragon did this. Infiltration was easy for him, of course, but there was little reason for him to do so in this land. It was lucky that he hadn't lost his edge.

Or was it because the guards of the Red Keep were pathetic? There really wasn't any way to say for sure. Either way, he'd reached the armoury with little difficulty, and found the first of his objectives. Ice struck an intimidating figure, resting on the wall. It was certainly taller than Eragon and, while he did not favour such large swords, Eragon knew it was one of the finest blades he had ever seen. Valyrian steel always made fantastic weapons.

As he neared the massive weapon, Eragon was annoyed to feel somebody approaching. Backing away, he glanced around the room, and stepped behind a full-to-bursting weapon-shelf and raised his hand; fingers splayed. It would be easy to knock whoever this was out, and then continue about his business.

Then, he recognised the disturbed mind, and anger spread through the Rider before he had a chance to calm himself. Not that he tried all that hard to stop himself, since the only recipient of his fury would be the approaching man.

Ilyn Payne stepped quietly in to the room, and made a beeline for the wall Eragon had just been facing. As he neared the greatsword, the King's executioner gained the first smile Eragon had seen him wear. The man raised his right hand and ran a finger down the flat of the Valyrian steel, almost... lovingly. Eragon brushed against his mind, and found the reason why. Payne was reminiscing about the ease with which Ice cut through its previous master's neck; the sharp edge cutting through bone and tendons with unbelievable ease.

If he had had a tongue, Ilyn may well have started singing to the magnificent blade with the soft songs a mother used to sooth her babe, instead of settling for the mental praise; he was a disturbing man, as almost anyone could see, but only Eragon could hear the deranged tune of the King's Justice's mind. He and Joffrey would have been good friends.

Key word being would.

Because the silent man would not make it out of this room alive.

"Snida." Of course, the executioner did not have time to turn before an invisible blade slashed down his back, and blood sprayed from the man. He did, however, manage to twist while falling forwards in order to land, back first, against the wall while facing his attacker. Usually expressionless eyes widened in fear as Ilyn saw one of Eddard's most trusted men stood over him; an odd mark on his palm glowing brightly. Eragon had removed his right glove for the sake of scaring the man he was about to kill, and saw that it had been achieved as the tongue-less man mouthed the word sorcerer; giving him an eyeful of the stump inside his mouth.

"I assume you know why I am doing this, but, to clarify, I am delivering a far more deserving death than that of Eddard Stark's. Clearly the gods want your life to end, or they would not have given you such horrid luck as to encounter me on this day. Find comfort in the fact that you wont feel a thing." Eragon watched the silent man slide down the wall; leaving a crimson streak, and lower his head. Ilyn Payne knew that his time was up; the wound on his back alone would expel his blood too soon for him to find help, and Eragon respected that he did not beg. Begging wouldn't have been any use to the man as Eragon whispered one more word, and the life fled the King's Justice's body.

Eragon took a hold of Ice; strapping the greatsword across his back, and soon left the castle; only taking a detour to drop off one more gift, and pick up two more things, before he escaped.

-()-

Later that night, Sansa found the letter Eragon had left for her, and found a relieved, if slightly teary, smile lighting up her face as she discovered the author, in contrast to the depression that had been all she'd known since her father's death. It was understandable that the girl had long harboured a crush on her father's most noble man for as long as she could remember; he personified all of what she thought her perfect man would be.

Sansa,

I do not have much time; I have left a present for Joffrey and the Queen in the armoury that will, no doubt, be discovered soon. I hope that it will give you some meagre comfort, for it will not give any to the King.

I must apologise; what I am going to do for the coming months will not be pleasant in any way, shape or form. I cannot bring you with me, or I am afraid you would be at great risk. I will return for you soon. Do not, for a moment, think that I've forgotten about you. Nor your family. As soon as I know how to proceed, I'll bring you to your mother or brother. In the meantime, I have left something in under your pillow for you. To call me back, simply break the strap and I will know that you need me, and will be in King's Landing as soon as I possibly can.

Don't be afraid, though. The Lannisters are many things, but they are not idiots. You are the only Stark they have, and they would not dare hurt you.

Eragon.

One last thing.

If Lady had been left here, Joffrey would have her killed for revenge against Nymeria for supposedly attacking him. She, too, will be waiting for you, so I hope you can forgive me for taking her with me.

-()-()-

This... was going to suck.

If Eragon thought getting in to the city was tough, he really hadn't predicted how hard it would be to get out of the city with a Valyrian Steel greatsword slung across his back, and two Direwolves on his heels.

He had contemplated any number of escape routes. He could go down through the old tunnels of the Red Keep; that would take him out to the river, and he and the wolves could swim, but it'd also require going back inside, after the alarm had been raised post-finding of Ilyn Payne, and risking discovery.

He could make a run for it; and would have a decent chance of escape since everyone would get out of his way, but the City Watch would easily send word to simply close the gates and the wolves would be trapped. They couldn't scale the walls.

So, instead, he would... he would...

Well, he'd forgo any pretence of being an ordinary human and hope that nobody was there to see.

With that in mind, he and the wolves sneaked in to a side alley, as close to the Red Keep as possible, and followed the wall line. Or, more specifically, Eragon followed the outer wall and the Direwolves followed him. Reaching a distance from the Red Keep that he figured was out of the way enough to avoid having a random citizen stumble upon him and the canines, and that he did not have to travel too far, letting the Gold Cloaks be given too long to search for him.

Stepping to the wall, Eragon drew Brisingr and nudged the minds of the wolves; telling them to keep watch for him. Of course, they did; not questioning why they suddenly knew to do so.

Eragon pressed the tip of his blade against the wall, and pushed while he whispered his blade's name. The flaming blade quickly disappeared up to the hilt, and Eragon began the process of cutting a whole in the brick. He made slow, but sure, progress until there was the outline of a hole big enough for him, and therefore Lady and Nymeria, to escape. Stepping back, he sheathed the sapphire blade before pressing his shoulder against the brick and heaving.

With a whistle, the two wolves followed him through and Eragon took a hold of the large slab of brick; his thick gloves proving quite useful as he did. It was heavy, but he managed to push it back upright and press it back in to the large hole. He removed his right glove, and pressed the Gedwey Ignasia against the rock. It was not necessary, but he had ruined a pair of gloves before by accidentally including them in the spell through absent-mindedness. He'd need these gloves for the foreseeable future.

"Gath." He whispered, and the stone melded together.

Nymeria nudged Eragon, concerned, as he crouched and sucked in a few breaths; the wall was thick, and it had winded him somewhat to reseal the hole. Eragon reassured her with a scratch behind the ears, and slowly stood.

"Come," The Rider said, as he began the trek to safer ground. Arya was missing, and he had only a vague idea where would she be. It was safe to assume she would head North, since that was the direction both to her home and to everyone she knew; excluding Eragon, who had been across the narrow sea, and Sansa, who her relationship with was strained, at best.

So how would she be able to travel?

Arya would know that it was fool to travel as a girl, and even more as a noble, in strange lands. So she would, presumably, be posing as a boy.

Syrio Forel had died, so that meant she did not have a water-dancer to protect her; a fact that Eragon was irritated by. She would have to be cautious, or find another method of assuring safety.

None of the Stark family guard had survived to help her, so... a boat? That would make sense if the Queen had not had eyes watching the docks since Ned had died, and Arya did not have Eragon's magic to cause a distraction. Nor did she have coin to pay for a boat.

She wouldn't be able to handle a full-grown horse; nor would she be able to steal one with ease. A pony, or the like, wouldn't make the trip North; Arya would know this, and would refrain from taking one for that reason.

So how would she travel?

That was a question that plagued Eragon until he, and his canine companions, settled down for the night, and occupied his waking-dreams through the dark. He needed some direction, or there was no reason to head North before moving on to a more long-term plan.

What would that plan be? He was not sure, just yet, but it centred around Joffrey and, more specifically, putting somebody more worthy on the throne.

But that was not important just yet, so Eragon postponed that particular brainstorm.

The next morning found two wolves staring expectantly at Eragon; wanting to have some hint of what they would be doing in the day. At the same time, Eragon was staring back at the two with a confused frown on his face.

There was something he was missing. Something related to the wolves that was just out of reach.

Ghost.

Jon.

The Night's Watch.

-()-()-()-

It was not long before Eragon found the trail of the Night's Watch. Well, the recruits of the Knight's Watch, anyway. They'd be members soon, presumably, but not just yet.

It wasn't surprising that he found the tracks so easily. Such a large group would be easy to follow even if they were trained. The ragtag group stood no chance of evasion. Not that they'd be trying to stay hidden.

It also did not take long for him to catch up to them. Even with Ice, which was very cumbersome, he could run as fast as any horse, and the wolves were able to run alongside him happily for the few miles he needed to cover. Unfortunately, he soon had to join up with a main road. He instructed the Direwolves to keep pace with him in the trees on the side, and draped his tunic over as much of Ice as he could, including the hilt; leaving him a muscular man, in an undershirt, with a long, thin package in his arms. Not the most subtle, but it was more inconspicuous than being discovered in the forest with a Valyrian greatsword.

Walking quickly, Eragon pursued Arya and her companions for a good few hours; not being able to utilise his own speed. To pass the time, he began checking the minds of the new recruits; it wouldn't do to have somebody stab him in the back as he travelled with them. Yes, he would travel with them for a time, since he was loathe to just scoop Arya up and run North. Yet again, he didn't want to be too easy to spot. A party of four consisting of a girl, two wolves, and a man faster than said wolves would draw copious amounts of attention their way.

First, Eragon touched against the Night's Watchman's mind. Yoren was... interesting, if brash, and Eragon saw that he was the one who saved Arya, and was keeping her safe. He owed the man for that.

There were several kids that didn't give much interest to him, other than one who felt rather rotten; though that may have been because he was one of the ones who had bullied 'Arry when Arya first joined the group, and was the more slimy of the two. The other one, called Hot Pie even in his own mind, was just a coward that wanted to fit in and so turned to bullying.

Gendry, however, Eragon recognised. Not his name, and not the appearance he gleamed from the others' eyes, but in the feel of his mind. It was Robert's bastard that served in a blacksmith; who Eddard had visited while Eragon waited outside. Curious.

Then, there were the three he paid special attention to. The ones that currently lived in the cage, after living in the dungeons of King's Landing. Two of them, he would likely have killed then and there, rather than leave them around Arya for any longer, had the Crows not been known for being able to beat such unpleasant natures out of their new recruits and turning them in to respectable men of the Watch. They were disgusting people; a pair of rapists and murderers that would not think twice about doing the same to a girl of Arya's age and position.

The third, on the other hand, was one of the people in this world Eragon held respect for. He did not upon arriving in this land, of course; the Rider had considered Faceless Men to be little more than hired killers. But he'd met a few in his time, and found them... oddly honourable. Not in the traditional sense, but they had a policy Eragon found he agreed with. They would create their own code; which made far more sense to Eragon that blindly following one that was created generations hence by some dusty old man, and would never defy those ethics. Not to mention the fact that their skills were undeniable; more talented killers than he'd met in this world or his own, if you excluded those, like Eragon, who could wield magic. That was a pretty serious advantage, after all.

Not that Eragon would refrain from using this advantage against Jaqen H'ghar if it turned out the man was an enemy; and he could not tell, since Eragon had so much difficulty discerning the thoughts of anybody in his order.

Shifting Ice's weight, Eragon began a jog; he was very near their latest camp, and very much wanted to catch Arya soon. Not a good idea to leave a fugitive girl with a bunch of guys who would sell her out before the Arya could tell them where to go.

He sensed anticipation from Nymeria as they neared the camp, and could barely stop her from tearing off to reunite with her mistress; who's scent she had caught by this point. The group probably wouldn't react all that well to a rather large wolf suddenly appearing in their camp and heading straight for the smallest of their number.

-()-()-()-

The Faceless Man, that Eragon had moments before been observing, watched the boy-dressed-girl walk away from him, and his companions, with some interest. Bravery of that sort was rare, because it was ill advised in a world of so many dangers. If she was left to her own devices, it would get the girl killed, but Jaqen had a hunch that his god was showing him the not-boy for a reason. A new recruit for his own order, perhaps.

The girl walked away with the blacksmith-boy, and out of Jaqen's range of hearing just as another thing of interest presented itself, as one of his companions grumbled about little-shits and was ignored by Jaqen.

The Gold Cloaks were not this thing. No, the thing was what was suddenly lurking in the woods behind him; a very low rumble turning his head, for him to find a pair of wolves looking back at him. They were a large breed; he could see this even from his distance, that came with his cage, and may have presented a threat to be feared for many men. Even so, they, too, were not what inspired his interest.

There was a man stood between the beasts, with a greatsword slung across his back. Jaqen's eyes were excellent, but he could not be sure of the man's identity. Though, if he was right about the hidden person's identity, it would be incorrect to label him such.

He did not believe the one-god would set him a task as difficult as recruiting that-one to his order, but it would be wise to make the attempt. The god of death would be pleased to have a servant in the form one of the few that could defy him.

-()-(_)(_)-()-

The Gold Cloaks left in a hurry, much to Eragon's relief, and the camp went back about their business. He had wondered why they would be searching for Robert's bastard, and had almost vomited as he discovered the reason. The two had blood on their hands; one of them of a boy no older than 12, and he certainly would not shed a tear over their deaths, but what made Eragon sick was what the quieter of the two had witnessed. He had been in LittleFinger's brothel as a squadron of fellow Gold Cloaks entered in search of bastards the right age, and saw what their commander had done. He had killed a babe; still on its mother's milk, and Eragon added Janos Slynt to the list of men that he would see dead before long.

With a simple gesture to the wolves next to him; letting them know to wait for now, Eragon walked in to the camp without further delay. Of course, he drew attention as he did; that would have been true of any stranger, let alone one with a huge sword on his back, but the Rider ignored it as he headed for the other side of the makeshift structure where Arya and the Knight's Watchmen resided.

"Hey," Gendry nudged the girl, who was not aware he knew her as such, in front of him and pointed at the newcomer. "Who do you think that is?" As Arya turned, the Blacksmith-apprentice was startled to hear a shocked gasp come from her an instant before the smaller figure was off like a shot. "Arry?" The bigger boy called futilely after her, in a confused tone.

That confusion wasn't helped any as he watched the girl fly at the strange man, and said man catch her with ease, in a hug, as 'Arry' buried her face in his chest.

Why was she crying?

"Hey, sweet girl." Eragon murmured, as he hugged the uncharacteristically distraught girl and lowered himself to the floor so her legs were not dangling. "You're okay," The Rider whispered soothingly. "You're okay."

What the girl said in response, Eragon could not be sure, but he thought he heard the word father, and so settled on letting Arya cry it out. The girl needed that, Eragon was certain.

Honestly, he could not say what happened for the rest of the day, other than that Arya fell asleep against him; she had, evidently, been holding in the distress of seeing her father's execution, quite effectively, in order to hide in plain sight from the boys with her. Eragon spoke briefly with Yoren, who recognised him and welcomed him as long as he kept out of sight should the Gold Cloaks return. The Rider sensed that he was thinking hard on whether it would be possible to recruit the talented knight to the Wall, and respected the man's drive even if there was no chance of him succeeding, when so much was about to happen in the South. He would be loath to stay in the North in this time.

He also had an almost-conversation with the caged Faceless Man, as both communicated silently that a true conversation between the two would have to occur sooner rather than later. Later that night, Arya was leaning against her Direwolf in the clutches of sleep; not registering that Nymeria was here just yet, and Eragon was in his sleeping-state between her and Lady; the Rider and Direwolf forming quite the barrier between the Stark girl and the rest of Yoren's recruits. It would be tough to explain that to the others in the morning, but the thought was, quite suddenly ripped from his waking-dreams as something incredible, and unfortunate, happened.

"More than a century of decent fortune has bought me this?" Eragon hissed to the sky; in an angry impression of a prayer. "You've just decided that I need to be reminded things can go to shit at a moments notice by piling all of it on top of me at once?"

Once upon a time, he would have been thrilled to hear of this. It would have given him what he had lacked ever since he'd been sent to this land; direction. Now, though? Now there was too much going on even before this! He had to protect the Stark girl next to him. He had to help Rob, and the rest of the North, get revenge for Ned's death. He had to be rid of the rotten king.

But how, in the name of every fucking god he could think of; in both this world and Alagaesia, was he supposed to ignore this?

How could he ignore dragons?

-()-()-()-

Snida- Cut

Gath- Unite.