Chapter 9

"I like dogs better than knights. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face."

-Sandor Clegane

Kevan

The herald cried an end, and the hall began to empty. Kevan watched as the assembled crowd dispersed, some of them looking at him from the corner of their eyes before leaving. Among them, Ser Alliser Thorne. The black brother had a frustrated look on his face, almost sad. He looked at Kevan for a moment, almost as if he wanted to say something, but just then a Lannister guardsman ushered him out of the hall.

What did he expect? thought Kevan. He had come to the Red Keep telling a strange story about dead men coming back to life, claiming to have one of their hands in a jar as proof. But the jar had rotten to pieces, while Ser Alliser waited to be received. Kevan had managed to suppress a chuckle as he heard that. It would have been rude to laugh right in his face. Of course it had rotten, it was a dead man's hand! And dead men didn't walk, neither did they attack people. Did Ser Alliser really expect they would believe such a ridiculous story? Was the Night's Watch so desperate as to resort to inventing fanciful tales about snarks and grumkins? He knew they had a perpetual need of men, so he had ordered Ser Jacelyn Bywater to take Thorne to the city dungeons. That way, the black brothers would get some more men to hold their precious Wall, and King's Landing would have some less mouths to feed.

Food, that's something worthy worrying about, not absurd claims about dead men. Gods only knew how the city would survive, if the blockade of food from the Reach lasted even just a little longer. Since his arrival in King's Landing, Kevan had already had to suppress two small riots, and there were whispers about some inhabitants of Flea Bottom resorting to cannibalism. He shuddered at the thought, and hoped it was all just rubbish, like Ser Alliser's tale.

Kevan rose from the Iron Throne, his limbs and back aching. Why did he have to make it like this? The throne was a tangle of nasty barbs and jagged metal teeth. Anyone who tried to recline on it, would soon receive a nasty reminder of why the Iron Throne bore that name. Aegon the Conqueror had intended for his successors to never be too comfortable while they ruled, so that they would constantly remember how being a king was no easy task.

Or maybe he was just a sadist, and now his ghost laughs every time a king cuts himself on the throne. Kevan was very careful every time he had to sit on it, and so far he had managed to avoid any cuts.

As he descended the steps, his thoughts turned once again to the war. More specifically, to Stannis Baratheon.

...my brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime the Kingslayer...

Kevan grimaced. How could Stannis make up such a tremendous lie? To think he had always been renown for his honesty...Did he really hate Cersei and her children so much? Or was it some kind of late revenge against Robert, usurping his son's birthright just like Stannis had been robbed of Storm's End? He didn't know. What he did know, was that they had to win the war before it was too late. To do that, they needed allies. And hopefully, they would find them. Lord Lefford had sailed a few days ago for Sunspear, to negotiate with Prince Doran Martell. Kevan knew that the chances of success were minimal; the Dornish knew how to hold a grudge, and had never forgotten the brutal death of Princess Elia and her children. However, he also knew that the Lannisters didn't have many other options, and therefore had to at least try.

As he touched the last step, he noticed Varys walking toward him, a strange look on his face. Kevan frowned. He didn't trust the enigmatic eunuch, but he couldn't get rid of him as easily as he would have liked. He was too useful. "Lord Varys." Kevan greeted him.

The other man bowed his head. "My Lord Hand." he said. "May I borrow a moment of your time?"

"What is it?"

"There are important news that need to be heard as soon as possible, my lord. I just received a letter from one of my little birds."

Kevan stopped and stared at Varys. "Is it about the war?" Whatever it was, he hoped it was something good.

Varys smiled. "In a way it is, my Lord Hand. The letter concernes some recent events in the Vale. And I am quite sure you will like what I am about to tell you..."

XXXXXX

Sandor

"...and then Arya said, "What that's supposed to mean?", and we all laughed." Sansa Stark said with a smile, kneeling in front of the heart tree.

Standing beside her, Sandor just nodded. He had been doing that for at least half an hour, since before they entered the godswood.

How in seven hells can she talk so much?

He should have been used to it, by now. It had been quite some time since he had began escorting the Stark girl. Through the corridors of the Red Keep, at court, and more often, into the godswood, where she spent at least an hour every evening before retiring to her chambers for the night. And yet, the impossible amount of words that came out of her mouth still surprised him.

He found it a little annoying. He had never liked people who talked too much, mostly because usually they did it to hide their own faults or to deceive other people. Sandor had met plenty of men and women like this. They seemed to particularly proliferate in the royal court, like flies around a pile of shit.

However, that wasn't Sansa Stark's case. The girl just talked about things from her past, from her life before leaving Winterfell for King's Landing. Her fights with her little sister, the days spent playing with her brothers, the dreams she had, her now dead direwolf. Sandor had learned more about her than what he would have ever wanted or cared to know.

As far as he knew, she had never talked that much in her previous days as...guest of the royal court. He supposed it had something to do with her feeling more at ease around him. That was something really odd to think about. Most people were at least intimidated by his presence, what with the scars on his face, his imposing size and his grumpy demeanor. Others were outright scared, especially when he looked at them with a murderous intent. The Stark girl too had been like that at first. She used to look at him with fear in her eyes, and always spoke with a timid voice. And yet, after a while that had changed. Now, she talked to him as if he were one of her own household guards, or even an old friend.

In fact, from a certain point of view, to her he was a friend. He looked out for her, spent a lot of time with her, and listened to her whenever she had something to say.

You're no friend of hers, you stupid dog! His inner voice said. Just her sworn shield. You did the same shit for Joffrey, and never once you thought of yourself as his friend.

The girl was different from Joffrey, though. Nice to look at, first. Sandor was sure she would get even more beautiful as she got older. Not arrogant or stupid at all, although she was still a little naive about knights and how the world worked. Her only flaw, aside from all that talking.

And if he had to be honest with himself, he didn't completely despise the time he spent with her. The girl wasn't such an unpleasant company, after all, compared to the royal shit and his mother. He supposed he had to be grateful for that. I could still be stuck with Joffrey. He almost shuddered at the thought.

Also, there was something about the girl, something about the way she talked and acted around him, that reminded Sandor of someone from his past. Someone long gone, who had died because of him. Someone he should have...

He shook his head. When did I become so emotional? He snorted. Just don't think about it, you stupid old dog. Just do your fucking duty. He looked at the girl. "It's late, now, little bird. We'd better go back to your chambers, before they start thinking we've run away."

The girl nodded at him. "Yes, Hound." She rose to her feet and turned toward the exit. Sandor just followed her, without uttering another word, a scowl on his face and many thoughts running through his head.

Seven fucking hells...

XXXXXX

Brynden

He approached the tent, and the northmen standing guard saluted him. "Ser Brynden, Lord Stark is resting and does not wish to be disturbed." said one of them, a young man barely old enough to shave.

Brynden nodded. "I am sure he will make an exception for me, boy. Now, please, let me pass. There are urgent matters that need to be addressed as soon as possible."

"As you wish, ser." The guards stepped aside, and Brynden entered Robb's tent.

He expected to find the boy sleeping somewhere, maybe with Grey Wind at his side like always. Instead, Robb was sitting on a chair, alone, his back to Brynden. He didn't seem to hear him, so maybe he was really sleeping, or just very deep in thought.

"Robb, it's me. We need to talk." No answer came. He supposed he was asleep. He got near the boy and spoke louder. "Robb!"

Still nothing. He put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, boy!"

He didn't answer. Brynden heard a strange noise coming from Robb's mouth, similar to...an animal growl? He looked at his face and gasped. Robb's mouth was half open, and his right eye...Gods, what is that?...his right eye was fully white. He started to worry. Is he sick? Should I call a maester? He put both hands on Robb's shoulders and shook him harder. "ROBB!"

Just then, the boy gasped. His entire body shook, and then his eye went back to normal. He looked at Brynden. "Uncle..."

"Robb, what in seven hells were you doing?"

The tent opened and the two guards peeked in. "Is everything all right, Lord Stark?"

"Don't worry, my uncle was just having some troubles waking me up." said Robb. "You can go back to your duties."

"Yes, my lord." The guards followed the order, and Robb turned to Brynden. "Uncle, what are you doing..."

"What am I doing? What were YOU doing! Robb, I thought you were sick! You were growling, and your eye...what the fuck was that?"

Robb looked at him in embarrassment, almost as if he had been caught doing something that he shouldn't be doing. "I was...well..." He sighed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Brynden raised an eyebrow. "Robb, if there is something you are too embarrassed to talk about..."

"No, it's not that. It's...something hard to believe, you could say."

"Well, then try to tell me. I heard all manners of strange tales, in my lifetime."

The boy nodded. "All right. First, take a seat." Brynden took a nearby stool and sat in front of Robb.

"So, boy, what is happening? What were you doing before I came here?" he said, resting his hands on his thighs.

Robb cleared his throat. "Uncle Brynden...do you know what a warg is?"

Brynden nodded. He had heard legends about wargs and their abilities. However, he didn't understand why Robb had brought up this argument. "What does this have to do with you?"

"Well, it all began after my duel with the Kingslayer. Perhaps even because of it." he answered. "While I was recovering, all I could think of was how useless I was now. I wondered if there was something that I could do to change that. And then, one night, I had a strange dream. I was running through the woods. I could feel the cold air on my skin, the noises of the other animals. Then, I arrived near a river. I looked into the water, and saw Grey Wind's face. I woke up screaming.

"It happened again, until I realized I wasn't dreaming. I was actually seeing things through Grey Wind's eyes! Somehow, I had managed to enter his mind." He paused. "I thought it was a gift from the Old Gods, a way to compensate for the loss of my eye and arm. So, I decided to take advantage of it. Since that day, I've been using Grey Wind as an extension of my body."

Brynden stared at Robb in disbelief. "So...that's what you were doing earlier?"

"Exactly."

"Hmm..." he muttered. A warg. Robb was a warg. Brynden couldn't believe his ears. It was all so strange. Until yesterday, if someone asked him, he would have said that wargs were just legends. And Robb had basically told him that they were real. It was difficult to believe. "Are you sure it's not some kind of dream? Maybe hallucinations caused by too much milk of the poppy?"

"Believe me, Uncle, it's all true. I too thought it was just a dream, at first." Robb said. "Once, Grey Wind killed a deer, and I could taste its blood in my mouth afterwards. It was...it was as if I had killed it myself."

It all sounded like something out of a song. And yet, it had to be true. Robb had no reason to lie to him. "Does someone else know about this?"

"Just you and me, Uncle."

"Good, then we would better keep this to ourselves. Gods know what would happen if the news spread." At the very least, everybody would think that Robb had lost his wits. "Be very careful when you...when you do your thing."

The boy thanked him, and silence filled the tent. After a few moments, Brynden remembered something.

"Seven hells, I almost forgot why I came here in the first place!" he suddenly said.

"What is it, Uncle Brynden?"

"You must come with me. And order your guards to call all of your battle commanders. I already called mine. An envoy from King Stannis has just arrived in our camp..."