A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! It really does keep things flowing!
TYGETT
The dream was always the same. He could always hear them before he saw them, that deep rumbling, the one that started from behind the jungle line of Bloodstone and ran over the dry and arid plains, rising through the stone to tickle Tygett's feet. It was the sound of the Golden Company, their foreign allies, and the eagerness they had for battle.
No matter how many years had come and gone since, in his dream he was always a boy again, a young squire that wasn't even half grown into manhood. Kevan was there, as always, a squire as well but still older, old enough to receive his knighthood when all was said and done. Even in his dreams Tygett was never awarded that title, no matter what he did, no matter how many he killed.
There was often a suffocating feeling whenever he finally saw the enemy, thousands of angry Tyroshi sellswords accompanied by the knights of the Golden Company. In all Tygett's life he had recognised gold as his colour, the colour of his family and the source of their protection and livelihood, yet when he saw it and the dozens of gold encased skulls, he couldn't help but tremble under its sheer radiance. When the battle started he had stuck closely to his uncle Jason and in the older man's comforting presence was able to release the creature that constantly stirred under his veins, the ferocious lion that his mother always warned him he needed to contain. It was a multi-headed beast, each with different names. Hate, frustration, and of course the main factor in his life, the one that had been his greatest curse and his greatest gift; rage.
It was in that state, that bubble of bloodlust, that Tygett had killed twelve men, smiling and laughing and roaring like an animal loosed upon unsuspecting sheep. In his dreams he felt the splashes of blood against his cheeks with frightening vividness. In his mindscape he was truly free to do the one thing in life that he knew he was unequivocally the best at, something that neither Kevan nor Tywin could try and keep up with. It was in that moment of half-dream, half-memory, that he knew the most amount of peace.
Like most things in Tygett's life, it never lasted. His happy daze was brutally twisted into the worst nightmare he could have ever imagined as he watched Maelys the Monstrous, brutal and demonic in shape and deed, cleaving his uncle's head in and leaving his corpse in the dust. Revulsion and heartache consumed him after that, as though his body was sinking into a murky bog. It was always in those moments when memory and fantasy bled together in such a way that familiarity left him, and he was certain that death would be upon him, all rational fixtures in his mind gone.
But, much like it was with reality, Tygett called upon his bloody rage to survive. Witness to his kin being cut down like cattle, he let restraint leave him and violence became his primary nature. With his uncle's name on his lips he would cut away at the ranks of enemy soldiers until finally he buried his sword into the chest of a golden knight, feeling as though, he was reclaiming it for his family.
"You should wake up," came a soft voice that seemed to echo all around him, cutting over the sounds of a thousand dying men and battlefield orders. "Wake up now, or I'll eat your half of the oats."
His eyes snapped open at once, breathing heavily and feeling flushed with sweat and terror. It took him a moment to register where he was, instantly checking for his sword. As his vision cleared he began to realise that he was in a camp, under an old oak, with a beautiful young woman sitting across from him.
"You were crying out," she told him with disapproving frown. "It might have drawn attention."
Tygett grunted but otherwise kept himself silent. He wasn't sure what exactly he had said in the delirium of sleep, but it still felt as though his privacy had been invaded, that the tight cage of his mind had been pried open. Instead he threw off the blanket he slept under and went over to the fire that Lady Lysa had started for them, warming his hands and collecting his thoughts.
"I could have left ,you know," Lysa's voice held no threat or aggression, merely curiosity, as though she was pointing out something obvious he had not considered. "You were so wrapped in your night terrors that I could have vanished into the night, you'd have never of seen me again."
He glanced over at the young woman, considerate. "You could have, and while there would probably be a great chance of you running into some Tully loyalist, there would be just as great a chance of you getting found by some common brigand who would have left you beaten and raped on the side of the road, or worse."
Lysa's blue eyes, the same shade as the sky, narrowed in disapproval. In the days since they had set out on their path it had seemed to Tygett that her feelings toward him and his presence had mellowed considerably, but even then she made her disdain of his family plain enough.I cannot blame her, he thought; even I can't stand half of them…
The oats they broke their fast on were of average fare. In the days past they had been reduced to salted beef of nights and tasteless oats of a morning, and even then they were running low. For someone like Tygett, who had spent most of his peaceful years living in extreme wealth and his wartimes being cushioned by the few luxuries of command, it was a worrying prospect to think that he would soon run out of something.
"We should not delay," he told her as he wolfed down his bowl of oats. "The trail of the Freys is still fresh; perhaps a hard day's ride could catch us up."
Lysa took another spoonful of oats and gazed at the river that lay off in the distance. There was a haunted beauty on her face, a fragile strength that seemed to make her whole being seem more precious because of it. "We are not far from Riverrun,"
"Perhaps that is where the Freys are heading," Tyg said casually, putting his empty bowl in his saddle bag. He had little to no knowledge about the Riverlands, mostly out of apathy in his adolescent years towards the lands of what he saw to be an obviously inferior house. He knew the most rudimentary ways in which to track a group of men, yet things would only go at the pace he desired if he had someone with intimate knowledge of the lands and peoples, something he hoped the daughter of Hoster Tully could provide him.
He could feel her eyes on him as he mounted up and after riding in silence for a few moments she urged her horse up to his side, facing him directly. "When this is…all done, when you have your brother back, what will you do about the Freys?"
"I meant what I said before," he murmured. "The Trident will run red with the blood of those accursed Freys, save perhaps my good-brother and his children."
Lysa fidgeted in her saddle for a moment, digesting his words until suddenly she could contain herself no more. "You should kill Cat's husband as well, don't hurt her babes, but take his head."
What in the world? The sudden surge in vitriol that filled the young woman's voice stunned him. Where did that come from? He found himself struggling with a reply, half wanting to ask her all about it and half wanting to pretend he never heard it. He glanced aside and saw that she was looking at him expectantly and inwardly cursed.
"Why?" he asked weakly.
"Aenys Frey is a beast, wicked and loathsome as his father and more cunning by half. He knows that if he kills Edmure then his children will inherit our father's lands instead, he's just waiting for the right chance. And Cat, she has to contend with him pawing at her, turning the children against her…" She broke off, shivered, and wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself.
Tygett let out a tired sigh. "Nothing will happen to your brother, the Freys are not so stupid as to kill off their prized possession. They'll wed him to some weasel-faced daughter and have him breed little weasel-faced children."
"You can't be sure of that," she argued. "You can't speak for Walder Frey."
"No, but I can speak for House Lannister," He said firmly. "If you can help me find this particular group of weasels then I shall see about having young Edmure serve as my good-brother Emmon's squire. He'll be away from the Twins and still with a Frey, which should keep old Walder quiet."
Lysa blinked in confusion and what might have been awe. "You'd…do that?"
Tygett shrugged. "A Lannister always pays his debts."
They rode in comfortable silence for a time after that, taking their weary horses along the winding tracks that followed the many rivers of the Trident northwards. Occasionally Lysa would point out a particular slope of land, or collection of trees that held some significance to the locals, her grasp on the place's history strong. He began to find himself enjoying the sound of her voice in the slowness of his day, occasionally sneaking a glance her way to watch as her eyes lifted and softened, the way her lips curled into a smile. Whatever hurt has been done to her in life has not yet driven out the spark of wonder. She still has some remnant of innocence...
The inn was a dull mass of grey stone that stood lonesome in an otherwise vibrant and lush green field just off one of the nearby rivers. Smoke billowed from the chimney and the sound of merriment swelled from inside as Tygett and Lysa approached, the scent of rotting apples and horseflesh in the air.
A boy came out to see to their horses and grinned a gap-toothed smile when Tygett flicked him a copper before hurrying off. Once they entered into the building a wave of warmth and sound came over them. The day still had some colour left in the sky, yet all of those living within reasonable distance had converged to what was likely the only place they could inebriate themselves and find the strength to return to whatever meagre living they had scratched out for themselves and their families.
Tygett always disliked such places. He drank with his men whilst on the march and with his brother in the privacy of their ancestral home, he did not care to be in a vulnerable state around those he couldn't trust his life with.
The Innkeep was an older man, running to fat and with a head of white hair that stood in contrast to his dark beard. He gave Tyg one quick look before adopting a subservient demeanour, forcing a straining smile across his face. "How may I be of service to M'lord?" he glanced at Lysa, giving her a slightly longer look. "M'lady."
"I need a room for the night. And something warm to fill our bellies," he glanced about, unable to see any girls serving food, only wine and ale. "If you can spare it,"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I can do that for M'lord, I've got a leg of mutton ready, some gravy and bits of bread to soak it in. Is that to your liking M'lord?"
Tygett glanced at Lysa, who merely shrugged, before turning back to the Innkeep. "It is."
They were sat on a small table closest to the hearth, the newborn fire crackling amongst the cacophony of sounds that filled the room. More than a few eyes trailed them as they came in, no doubt appraising them of their valuables and trying to estimate how much luck they would need to steal from Lysa before Tygett's mailed fist caught them in the throat. As it happened, luck was on their side and all kept away, even after the warm meals were brought out.
Lysa ate with all the propriety of a queen, her poise looking shockingly out of place in the basic and drab setting in which they both dined. He wondered if she had a mind to reveal herself to the other customers, the men and women whom laughed and drank and argued loudly amongst one another with good cheer. Most were too drunk to be able to heed the gravity of her admission, but there would likely be one or two that would take her on her word as Hoster Tully's daughter.
Yet as he watched her slowly cut up and swallow her food with delicate motions, he realised that she looked far too comfortable to try and escape him. If anything Lysa seemed to enjoy his presence and the silence between them as they ate did not feel like a burden at all.
"Have you ever been here before?" he asked curiously.
Her eyebrows quirked at his question, and after swallowing her latest morsel of mutton she lifted her head to examine her surroundings. "No, I don't believe I have. Father would take us, me and Cat and Ed, around the lands and rivers, but most of the time we stayed at the keeps of the other lords."
"Ah," he tried a bite of his own food. It was on the whole better than he had experienced in some time, a pleasant surprise given the shabby state of the rest of the establishment. He turned his attention back to Lysa, watching her over the rim of his cup of ale. "And of those lords, how many have ties to House Frey?"
Lysa considered for a moment. "Few currently, Walder Frey tends to outlive all of his wives. Their children are not raised as anything other than a Frey of the Crossing."
"So if they were to call for aid, which might come to help?"
Her eyes narrowed, a sort of gleeful disdain glowing from within her blue orbs. "Only the other Freys,"
Tygett couldn't help but smirking at that. It was just the kind of response he had hoped for and allowed the wheels of his mind to slowly turn, his thoughts working as he ate in silence. He had to assume that Lord Walder was unaware of the attack against House Lannister. Old he may be, but he's certainly not stupid enough to go up against the likes of Tywin. With a little luck, Emmon, or rather Genna will be able to keep the old man from making a fuss when I murder those of his children involved….
"You tend to fade out at times," Lysa remarked. She had finished her meal, and was watching him with an open smile. "Are you a dreamer, Ser?"
Tyg laughed a little, a sound that would have been mistaken for a tired sigh if not for the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "No one has thought to call me out on my daydreaming since I was ten."
"Yes, well, you do it a lot."
"Some would call me thoughtful," he replied, green eyes twinkling.
Lysa nodded, "Some, but not I," she leaned forward. "My uncle Brynden used to get the same expression whenever he talked about fighting in the local tourneys. It's a warrior's eagerness I think, escaping to memories of old battles."
Tygett pursed his lips, curiosity creeping over him. "Did your uncle ever talk about the War of the Ninepenny Kings?"
"Well, sometimes. He doesn't really go into the details with me or Cat, and Edmure was too young to hear such things…." She frowned suspiciously at him. "Why do you ask? You know my uncle earned his reputation during that war."
Warmed with ale, he decided that he would indulge her just the once in regards to his and Brynden Tully's shared experiences. His face became as expressive as he felt safe to allow. "I fought beside him in the war, even bore witness to a few of his more memorable deeds on the field."
"But that war was…." Lysa's eyes fluttered slightly as she did the numbers within her head. "That was almost three decades ago. You couldn't possibly have…"
His eyes wrinkled at that. "I was a squire at the time, a young boy, but old enough to help kill a few Essosi."
"But you were a son of the Warden of the West, is it not dangerous for you to be out amongst that carnage? What did your Lord Father say?"
Tygett struggled to keep the bitterness from his voice. "My father smiled and readily agreed to the suggestion. He was desperate to be liked you see."
"Is that so bad?"
"When you are lord of the Westerlands, owner of the wealthiest mines in the realm, it is the absolute worst thing you could be." He drained the last of his ale, arranged the cup beside his plate artfully. "I spent most of my time with my uncle Jason anyway."
There was the slightest tremble of expression across her face, a small twitch below the eye. Lysa was quick enough to conceal it before anything truly came of it, but it was enough for Tygett. What does she know? He wondered, Has Brynden ever mentioned him, even in passing?
He opened his mouth to enquire but swiftly shut it again after catching sight of someone sitting over her shoulder. All the recognisable features were there, weak chin, beady eyes, and weasel-like face. There may have been a great many Freys roaming about Westeros, but at least they all carried the same tell-tale looks. Frey's beady-eyed gaze was set upon Lysa's body, watching with the mesmerized determination of a lecher trying to visualize flesh beneath cloth. He did not notice Tygett's cold and deathly stare.
"My lady," he murmured quietly, causing Lysa to lean in closer to hear. "It seems one of the drunkards at this establishment has eyes for you, no don't turn around, just keep your attention on me. In a moment I am going to get up and walk outside. I want you to wait a beat, look distressed and then hurry after me. I won't be there when you get outside, but our friend will likely follow. When he goes to approach you, I will strike. Do you understand?"
Lysa raised a single eyebrow. "You're using me as bait," she said flatly.
He gave her another grin before pushing to his feet. "Now you're getting it."
His movements were slightly staggered, one more drunk amongst the crowd. More than anything he wanted to turn around and make sure that she was still sitting at the table, undisturbed by the Frey and his gluttonous looks. With a slight shake of his head he dismissed the notion and pushed passed the Innkeep and went out into the cold night air. There was an old hedge a few paces away from the door, sitting beside the dirt path like a dutiful friend. Tygett hid inside it, eyes locked upon everything coming and out of the Inn.
In the moments he had to wait, Tygett slowly eased his breathing, relaxed his grip on the blade in his hand. It was usually nothing to down a single man caught in surprise, and in truth that was not what worried him. With thoughts of Gerion, hurt and facing an unknown fate, Tyg found it harder and harder to contain the constant rage that bubbled away. I can't get too carried away, he reminded himself sternly. I need the wretch alive long enough to tell me what his kin are planning…
After what felt like an eternity the door of the Inn was pushed open, and in the beam of light and warmth that spilled out, Lysa emerged, gazing about unsurely and taking a few anxious steps around looking lost. To most she seemed the image of a vulnerable young woman, easy pickings for the type of slobbery beast that roamed the countryside, yet Tygett knew better. Her blue eyes, while moving rapidly also held certain anger that spoke of deeper strength. She was not afraid.
A figure soon crept out from behind her, slithering from the door of the Inn. In Tygett's experience, most Freys were cowards, but he knew well enough that most cowards had a sort of low cunning that allowed them to avoid danger, a survival technique not dissimilar to that of a rodent. Frey's eyes glanced about cautiously, trying to ensure that there was nothing that could potentially spoil his moment with the woman.
Frey took five long paces, bringing himself right behind Lysa. There was a moment of apprehension as his hand hovered over Lysa's shoulder, he seemed to be collecting all the tiny fragments of courage within to help fuel his act. His hand came down on her shoulder and spun her around hard. Tygett couldn't hear what he said to her, but didn't need to. His mailed fist and pommel of his blade collided with the back of Frey's head, an action that was more from the wrist than the arm. The weasel fell to the ground before Lysa's feet like an offering of flesh to an eastern goddess.
"What are you going to do with him?" Lysa didn't take her eyes off the unconscious man.
Tyg flexed his hand. "Going to make him talk,"
At a small collection of dead trees some distance from the Inn, Frey sat gagged and bound to a tree.
Tygett leaned against a great oak with his eyes closed for almost an hour. He had taken his horse and sent Lysa back to her room at the Inn, gave her his dirk and told her to lock the door to all but him. What he had in mind would not be for the likes of her to see. I will not take away any more of your innocence; to suffer that would burden me too much…
He turned to the tree and the man tied to it, and to the old destrier that munched away on nearby grass. The beast lifted his head when he saw Tygett approach and was rewarded with a pat behind the ears. All Frey received was a stony glare.
"My lord of Frey, I can't thank you enough for what you have done. The amount of time and effort that has been saved by you coming to my attention is greatly appreciated." He forced a savage smile. "Let us discuss how you and your kin attacked my camp, butchered my men and kidnapped my brother."
He pulled out the gag and words spilled out of Frey's mouth like vomit.
"I am merely a bastard, just one of Lord Walder's bastards," he said. "I only came here to have a drink, and forgot myself when I approached that woman. I promise you I meant her no harm!"
Tygett shook his head. "In this world the only promise that you can trust is the promise from a Lannister. Let me make you a promise now; I promise you that if you do not tell me where the rest of your kin are headed, I will kill you in the most unpleasant of ways."
"I have more kin than I can count!" he tried, rodent eyes anxious. "I have no idea what you speak of!"
"Oh, I think you do. You have the sour look of man excluded from something," Tygett patted the man's cheek. "They probably thought to leave you out because you were just a bastard and they had better things to do than waste time involving you. Am I right?"
Frey looked at him, rapidly trying a different tactic. "They'll come looking for me, very soon. When they do you won't leave the Riverlands alive. Free me now and we'll forget it."
Tygett worked his jaw, gave the impression that he was considering the offer. With a small nod, he removed a key from his pocket and went about unlocking the chains that bound Frey's abdomen. The little man seemed to relax for a moment before the giddy excitement of survival came over him.
"Yes, quickly now. Unlock the chains on hands!"
Lannister looked at the man, his bound hands dangling above his head looking like a pair of rabbit ears to match his rodent face. He got up and walked over to his horse. "I think we'll leave those, at least until you answer a few more of my questions."
There was a long coil of rope on the ground beside the animal; Tygett tied the free end to his destrier's harness. The other end was tied around Frey's ankles, tightly wound so that it rubbed into the man's bare flesh and leaving ugly red brands.
Frey writhed in his bonds when he saw what Tygett had planned.
"Do you know, King Aegon the fourth had a member of his Kingsguard dismembered? The man was torn apart, piece by piece. I'm not exact sure how he did it, but I'm a Lannister; I use my wits. "
He stroked the horse gently for a moment before walking him forward. Frey's eyes bulged in shock as he watched the rope uncoil in the grass below. A curse was spat in Tygett's direction but he ignored it and continued onwards until the rope tightened and Frey found his legs being pulled forward. Tyg glanced over his shoulder at the man, saw his face go red as he was suspended from the ground, his body stretched out between the pull of the horse and the solid foundation of the oak tree.
Frey screamed. "It was Aenys! It was all him! I just went along!"
"What was he planning?"
"I can't say, he'd kill me and my wife if he found out I told!"
Tygett led the horse forward, the beast's muscles visible as the slack tightened and he worked to pull the resistant body from its place. With the way that he was screaming, Tygett judged that Frey's lower half would soon be torn from the rest of him.
There was a bloody gurgle. "Riverrun! By the Gods….he's taken your brother to Riverrun!"
He patted the horse and came back to Frey. The man was suspended, stretched out freakishly with ugly looking bruises forming around his joints. Tygett gave the rope a tug as he approached. "Why is he taking Gerion to Riverrun, why betray us?"
"For gold, he wants to use him for ransom and also, he thinks he can get the boy back."
Tygett frowned. "What boy?"
"Robb Stark. Aenys is wed to the boy's mother, their children are his siblings. He thinks to use your niece's marriage to the king as way to have the boy returned to Riverrun, preying on Rhaegar's sympathies for his new bride and her uncle."
That gave Tygett pause. He had never considered that the Freys would be interested in the Stark boy. Is it for his wife's sake?Surely the Freys aren't stupid enough to try something like this driven by pure sentiment. "Why does he want the boy?"
"He is the key to the North, and would be an easy puppet for Aenys to use. With Edmure Tully as well, he has control over the liege lords of two kingdoms. He'd go from being a third born son to one of the most powerful men in the Realm." Frey looked Tygett in the eye. "I swear that's all I know."
Tygett stood in still silence for a long moment. If they had already gotten to Riverrun then his chances at rescuing Gerion would have diminished to the point of near impossibility, yet if he could catch them beforehand then he might just be able to sneak in and out without causing too much of a fuss.
"Please, I've told you everything! Let me go!"
"Don't worry, you will be free of those bindings." Tygett turned back to his horse and gave it a slap on the rump. The beast trudged forward with all strength, pulling the rope taught. There was a strangled scream, a wet crunch and then the line went slack once again.
There was a heavy fog settling over the Frey camp, and despite the fine pair of Myrish glasses that he had managed to save from the flaming wreckage, Tygett could hardly see a thing from his spot in the tree line.
"Is Aenys down there with them?" Lysa asked from his side, shivering slightly at the early morning cold despite her cloak. She seemed enthused when he told of her of what he had learnt from the dead Frey and insisted on helping him deal with her good-brother's plot.
"I don't know, in this weather I can barely make out the most basic of shapes." He frowned at the camp in contempt. "It's just as likely that he's still at Riverrun whilst one of his more thuggish brothers oversees things here."
He ran his tongue over his dried lips, considered the situation. His brother was down the hill and surrounded by guards, likely in chains and probably had been poorly fed, and if the enemy was allowed to gather itself up then he might never get another chance at freeing him. If it had been any other day, he wouldn't even be able to entertain the notion of entering, not in the daylight and not without knowing the full layout of things, but the Gods were with him and the heavy fog consumed everything for leagues, hindering long range sight. I might be able to sneak in while everyone is dazed and blind by the fog…
"I'm going down there,"
Lysa looked at him as though he had sprouted a second head. "What, now?"
"No time like the present," He checked the weapons at his side, grabbed a handful of dirt and began smearing it over his armour to dull the shine. "It's still early yet, most of the men will be half-asleep and the fog should provide cover."
"The risks-"
"-Are worth taking," he turned to look at her fully. He took out his small bag and gave her the last of the gold as well as his dirk. "If I am not back within an hour, then you can assume I have been killed."
She watched him get up, struggling with herself. There was something going on behind her eyes, some storm of thoughts that battled with each one to come to surface. Tygett stood before her and waited a beat in the hope that she was going to say something more, but in the end she merely gave a small nod and he walked without a second thought.
The enemy camp was a world of ghosts, hazy and cold. There was a horrible dampness to the air and Tygett felt somewhat suffocated in it. He moved quickly and worked mostly off memory of the camp's basic outline and had to make several quick judgements regarding where the prisoners would be kept. He glimpsed several dark figures that he assumed were guards, though they never approached him, and the few men he did see up close paid him no mind as they hurried on with their duties.
He moved closer to the wooden pens that held the prisoners, using mostly his sense of smell to provide any direction. Despite the drabness and pale light that sucked the colour from everything, Gerion's golden hair was perfectly visible as he lay chained in his wooden prison.
Tygett grasped the wooden bars of his cell. "Brother?"
The figure lifted his filthy brow and stared at him with wide green eyes. His cheek bone was swollen into an ugly blue blemish and his lip was split open, yet Gerion did not look too badly hurt. "Tyg, is that you?" he made a croak and his whole body shook, something in between a laugh and a sob. "I thought you were dead."
"Not yet," he examined the wooden structure, searched for weak points. "I'm getting you out of here."
Gerion's eyes widened. "Tyg, watch out!"
Suddenly Tygett felt something hit him in the side of the head, and for a brief moment was overwhelmed by a form of numbness before the horrible pain nearly blinded him. He saw stars and was suddenly on the ground, blood running down his face. Blinking up at the sky, he soon found himself shadowed by a looming figure.
"Five years since you lot killed my brother and stole Cat's boy," the Blackfish said. "Five years, and now your day of judgement has finally arrived Lannister."