CHAPTER 29 - THE KINDLING
Rychon looked up at the massive structure that he'd heard of only in tales. The great Wall that was their protection from the monsters beyond... and now that was exactly where they were going to find one. The journey was favourably uneventful, save for a brief encounter passing Moat Cailin where they were delayed. But a good deal of persuasion allowed them crossing, and further progress towards White Harbour, from where a handful of soldiers would travel down to King's Landing with the horses to await them there, and they continued on to Eastwatch by ship, hoping for better speed and time than would be allowed by travelling over the countryside. The company was pleasant, and much of what they did was rest when confined to the barge; but while Berin spoke and laughed and joked with the other members of the fellowship, he'd barely spoken directly to him, leaving him feeling pitiful that their kinship had crumbled so. But there was nothing to do, but give his best, hope, and wait, and endure whatever came. The sky was clouded, but it might have been noon or later whilst hues of blue and white glided on the ice that reached to the sky. A hand to his shoulder broke his reverie, and he looked at Renko at his side regarding him with calm grey eyes, his brown curls ruffled by the wind, and already he was covered under warm furs like the others. The air had become increasingly cold over the past few days as they neared the castle, but he only recently felt himself in the need for the thick furs. It might get even worse once they crossed into the frozen lands of always winter.
"Don't fret, my young lord. We'll be bound for home again, soon." he tried to comfort, but Rychon smiled.
"I know. I'm not worried." then he laughed.
"Compared to a battle, this should be easy." I hope... then he glanced back at Berin, removing a bag and his sword from the skiff they'd used to come ashore while Berterin adjusted his clothing. But regardless of the tenuous exchanges, he was happy to have the imposing sentinel with him. He was grateful for both of them. Then Jon passed him towards the keep in the wall of ice, and they followed behind to find the castle occupied by many of the Freefolk men who now guarded it. Their burly ginger haired headman met them in the first hall, grinning with bright eyes.
"Well now, thought you'd have better business than comin' up here." he mentioned as Jon greeted him.
"We're going further, I'm afraid." he told, and Tormund stared at him.
"Further?" he then glanced at the others.
"You know what's out there. Know what happened at Hardhome. Then you gave your life to bring my people here, and now you want to go back?" he asked, and Rychon found himself curious. Gave his life..?
"It's not what I want, it's what we need." he returned, but the bear-like man was hardly swayed.
"What you need? You need to risk more-" Jon took his shoulder.
"I'll explain everything, my friend." he assured, and then the wildling's eyes regarded the rest of the group again.
"And you brought others, as well." Rychon stepped forward.
"We offered to help." he said, and suddenly the man smiled.
"Ah, course you did, lad." he extended a hand happily.
"I remember you." he mentioned, examining the features in front of him, but might have been unable to determine exactly from where.
"Yes, we fought together to retake Winterfell from the Boltons." he reminded, and the eyes lit up.
"That's the one! You took an arrow to your gut." Tormund recalled.
"Shoulder." Rychon corrected, and then glanced back at his people who stared at him. All but for Berterin. He hadn't told anyone but Bella; and now his mother would definitely hear of it.
"This is Tormund, leader of the Freefolk." he introduced, ushering them forward.
"You remember my friend, Berterin?" Rychon quickly directed, and then brought Berin and Renko forward to present them as well.
"And two of Mount Ardor's finest warriors, Berin and Renko." They shook hands, and Tormund seemed pleased as he looked over the newcomers.
"Good. We need strong arms." he said, and then turned back towards Jon and his company.
"Now, tell me about this madness that's befallen you." he said. They made their way to a small hall where Jon, Davos, Jorah, the youth of the king's company named Gendry, Tormund, Rychon, Berin and Berterin settled around a table, and debated on the waiting task, and Tormund sat baffled. Then he glanced at Davos.
"Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?" he directed, and the elderly man sighed.
"I've been failing at that job, of late." he muttered as Jon sniggered.
"How many queens are there, now?" Tormund asked.
"Two." Jon replied.
"And you need to convince the one with the dragons, or the one who fucks her brother?" the large man continued, forcing Gendry and the youngsters to stifle a snigger of their own as a silence followed.
"Both." Jon answered, then Tormund sat forward, seeming to mull over the situation.
"How many men did you bring?" he finally asked, and Jon glanced at the others. Along with his allies from the Corridor, they would number eight now, two still adolescents and another two beyond their fiftieth years.
"Not enough." he breathed.
"The big woman?" Tormund asked, and Jon smiled. He'd been besotted with Sansa's own protector for a good while. Then the headman looked away, seeming disappointed.
"We were hoping some of your men could help." Jorah mentioned, and Berin looked up to agree.
"We don't have any familiarity of the lands north of the Wall. Your knowledge will be invaluable, and we can only prepare ourselves properly with an understanding of what we're about to face out there." he explained.
"I'll be stayin' behind. I'm a liability out there, as you well know." Davos sighed, and Tormund looked at him.
"You are." he agreed easily, and then his eyes settled on Rychon and Berterin.
"The children might stay, too." he suggested, but Berterin sat forward.
"We're not children. We've fought in a battle before." he said, and Jorah smirked.
"One fight doesn't make you a man." he tried, but Rychon looked at him.
"Maybe not. But we came to help, and help we will. I will not sit here idly waiting in the cold." he told solidly.
"We can't take boys north of the Wall." Tormund continued, and suddenly Berin laughed softly.
"They're young, Tormund. But they're as brave and stubborn as any of your own men. You won't change their minds." he said, and the big man sighed before looking at Jon again.
"You really want to go out there, again?" he asked, and slowly Jon nodded. Then Tormund sat back, accepting the decision, and then his thoughts wandered for an instant.
"You're not the only ones." he then told, and stood to lead the group down to the castle dungeons.
"Our scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here." he explained as they neared a cell with four prisoners, light and cool wind spilling from a window open to the elements. Jon regarded the men, three hidden away in the shadows and another great man wrapped in a cloak lying on the bench staring at the wood and stones above him. His hair was long and tousled, a dark beard across his gaunt features, and the wounds left by fire over much of his right brow and cheek.
"You're the Hound. I saw you once, at Winterfell." Jon recognised him, and he slowly sat up.
"They want to go beyond the Wall, too." Tormund told, and a voice rose from inside the cell.
"We don't want to go beyond the Wall, we have to." one of the men corrected from where he sat against the wall, watching them with a single bright eye while the other was covered beneath a crude leather band. Then he leaned slightly back.
"Our lord told us that the great war has come-" he started to explain, but a voice cut him off.
"Don't trust him. Don't trust any of them." it was Gendry, coming forward out of the shadows with Berterin behind him.
"They're the Brotherhood. And the last thing their "lord" told them to do, was sell me to a red witch to be murdered!" Gendry told as he watched the prisoners, and they simply stared back. Surely, they did not expect to see him alive after that encounter.
"Thoros?" Jorah asked, and another figure emerged slowly out of the shadows.
"I hardly recognised you." the knight breathed, watching the gaunt figure in the corner huddled under his cloak, but the blue eyes lightened slightly as he smiled.
"Ser Jorah Mormont. They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself." he pardoned, and the big red haired man turned to stare at the knight beside him.
"You're a fucking Mormont! Like the last Lord Commander?" he directed as Jorah turned, and faced him fully.
"He was my father." he revealed, and the headman glared at him.
"He hunted us. Like animals!" Tormund told bitterly, but ser Jorah regarded him calmly.
"You returned the favour, as I recall." he reminded, and a moment of bitter silence hung between them before the figure at the far back of the cell rose slowly to his feet.
"My lord?" he took the hood from his head, and stared at Rychon as if he were looking at a ghost, or an idol, or some celestial being.
"Lord Raeghun, is that you?" he asked, his voice something between a whimper and a laugh, and suddenly Berin recognised him. He was haggard, aged a decade beyond his years, and his left cheek was hollow like flesh had been removed from it.
"Hilfert." never would he have imagined to find one of their own here. But a heat crept up his back as Rychon glared at the prisoner.
"What the-fuck are you doing here?" he suddenly demanded, and all other thoughts vanished at his harshness that was so unexpected. Gendry looked at him, taken aback by the noticeable warmth that emitted through the space with the young lord's voice.
"You know him, too?" he asked, and Berin returned his attention to the man watching them from the other side of the bars, still staring as if in a drunk dream.
"He's a sentinel-" he tried to explain.
"Was a sentinel." Rychon corrected as he regarded the gaunt soldier, anger in his burning eyes.
"Rychon-" Berin tried softly.
"You were assumed dead, with the others! And here you are." he directed, and Hilfert slowly lowered his eyes; but then the man with the hidden eye smirked.
"Here we all are. At the edge of the world, at the same moment, heading in the same direction, for the same reason." he agreed, but ser Davos granted him a suspicious glance.
"Our reasons aren't your reasons." he told him, and then that prisoner stood and approached them.
"It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are. There's a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together, whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the lord of light-" he started, but the fearsome fighter known as 'The Hound' silenced him.
"For fuck sakes, will you shut your hole!" he complained, and his comrade glanced back as he looked at those in the hallway in front of the cell.
"Are we coming with you, or not?" he demanded, and Jorah looked at him.
"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" he asked curiously, and the slender man in the corner named Thoros started to raise himself as well.
"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell, waiting to die?" he asked, and Jon sighed.
"He's right. We're all on the same side." he agreed, and Gendry looked at him, his profound blue eyes almost hard with truculence.
"How can we be?" he asked as Jon regarded them men inside the cell. They came here with a purpose, it was true. And it could only help theirs.
"We're all breathing." he told. The cell was opened, and the Brotherhood given over to freedom. Some time later, with all prepared and their people sheltered by thick pelts and leather, the northern gate was opened and their party took their steps into the waning light of the frozen lands north of the Wall.
Bella slowly made her way up the winding steps to maester Adlyn's chamber. She'd been feeling odd for a number of days, with warmness and an uneasiness to her stomach which her mother quickly noticed and suggested that she come see him. Samantha had offered to come with her, but she declined rather wanting to be in his company alone. She entered his wide solar where they had spent a great deal of their childhood, crammed with cases and cases of books, cabinets and cabinets of tubs and bottles, and shelves upon shelves of items that he used daily in his alchemy. Roots and flowers grew from pots and planters, there were even vines growing along the wall through the window where a patch of moss clung to the south side of the stones, and for the first time snow had been falling for more than a morning outside the walls. The healer sat at his desk, mixing a balm in his hands.
"Good day, maester." she greeted, and he looked up with a warm smile.
"Lady Bella, come in. What may I do for you?" he invited, setting the balm aside as she approached.
"I'm feeling a bit queer, maester. I was hoping you could help." she told, and he motioned to the chairs by his little hearth.
"Certainly. What seems to be the concern, my lady?" he asked as they settled down, and she tried to explain the strange sensations of warmth and a tightness to her stomach as he listened.
"Might I examine you?" he asked, taking his pendulum from his sleeve, and she agreed. She gave her hand and he applied gentle pressure to her wrist below her thumb as the crystal swung above the leather with the sphere, then he replaced the pendulum and let the back of his hand rest against her brow, and softly felt along her throat behind the curve of her jaw for any swelling. He examined the base of her throat for discolourations and the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbows for rashes. Even the inside of her mouth revealed nothing. And while determining that she was slightly feverish, could find no other faults.
"Are you feeling anxious, perhaps?" he asked, and she slowly nodded after a moment.
"I suppose I might be. With my father and brothers gone..." she decided, but that may not have been the only reason. She'd heard the same kind of discussions among other girls from time to time, and once or twice heard mention the kind of remedy that could be used. Her bloom had not come when it was meant to, and dismally she'd hoped that it was simply delayed for couple of days, but she thought of it unwillingly often; and found herself conflicted. Then he nodded.
"Shall I propose a cup of tea?" he asked, glancing at the cabinet that stocked everything he required to create his range of remedies. Camomile tea, Peppermint tea, Ginger tea, Sage tea, Lemon tea, Passionflower tea...
"I have quite a selection, all offering relief." he proposed, but she sat silent for a long moment, just looking at the floor in front of her.
"Maester..." she started softly, not daring to meet his eyes. She clasped her hands together, and held them between her knees to keep them from shaking.
"Do you have any..." it was a difficult thing to ask for, and it left a bitter sting to her mouth. What would he think of her?
"Any moon tea?" she whispered, but when she looked up at him, there was no horror, no shock, no disgust. Just compassion, and understanding.
"I could make some for you, if you wish?" he agreed softly, and she felt like crying. She was frightened, and ashamed, and heartsick.
"I am sorry, to ask this of you." she whimpered, but then felt his withered hand gentle on her arm.
"I am here to help you, my lady. Not to judge you. But perhaps you might consider the Camomile, or Passionflower first." he suggested tenderly, but she looked down again, fighting the tears. Then she heard him sigh before he stood, shuffling over to his cabinet and opening the doors to search for the required items. She watched as he rummaged through the wares, taking a tub of honey. Can I do this? A bottle of mint. What would my family think? My mother, my father? Aunt Claira? A vial holding a herb with small, delicate flowers. What would he do, if he knew? A small branch from a plant in one of the pots. This will be Rychon's child...A twig with small purple flowers, resembling lavender. No... No, I can't... I can't...
"Wait." he paused, and looked back at her.
"I... I think I'll have the Passionflower tea, for now." she amended, and saw him smile.
"Very good." he proceeded to exchange some of the items for others as she sat waiting. Perhaps it was just anxiety and strain. She could reconsider the tea again later, if she needed to. But, it couldn't be now.
Their party trekked through the world north, where there was nothing but rock and ice and wind. The sun was low over the horizon, and dark clouds were starting to pull over them with the increasing winds. Through their own light discussions Rychon listened to the other exchanges that rose and fell as time went on. Gendry's questions on how the wildlings lived and kept themselves warm in this place that was always cold. Tormund's remembrance of their king beyond the wall. The Brotherhood's teasing of a youngster whom once wished to join them. At some point, Jon stood with ser Jorah, wishing to return the sword that once belonged to his family. But he declined, so the sword may stay in the light of honour and the hand of trueness. As they headed down a narrow trail to a flat expanse, Jon approached him.
"Rychon." he paused, and looked back at the King in the North.
"Your grace?" he smiled.
"Your mother is a fine woman." he mentioned, and Rychon nodded.
"She is. But, she's changed." he thought, and they continued down the trail.
"I suppose that time is to blame for that." Jon looked up at the horizon. The delicate lady he'd once recalled was now hard, and tough as nails.
"I apologise for what she said." Rychon breathed, but Jon still smiled. He respected her.
"I wasn't offended. She spoke an honest truth, and I understand why she said that. I might have reacted much the same way in her position." then he looked at him with half a laugh.
"I admire her. And with her position, it's necessary to be strong. It suits her well, though." he hailed, and Rychon shared his laugh. There was no anger in the words she'd said, not as much as there was sorrow. She didn't blame Jon for what happened, but it still tugged at her heart.
"It does." he agreed as they reached the base of the trail and crossed a flat expanse before starting up another incline where Ser Sandor Clegane needed to rectify some of his garments, and evidently there made a new friend in the ginger head leader of the Freefolk, whether he wanted it or not. And lord Berric Dondarrion, now the leader of the Brotherhood, declared that the wars of men were irrelevant, and that the only war that truly mattered was the battle for life against death; and that true warriors kept fighting for that victory until their last breath left their bodies even though they knew that outcome was inevitable at any rate. He tried to ignore Hilfert, who'd gathered the courage to speak with Renko and Berin, and even Berterin on an occasion or two. But he found he had nothing to say to him, the deserter who abandoned their order and his family. He'd been alive all this time, and yet he did not come back to them. There was no one who could wish for a better life than anyone could have in service of the burning mountain, and he discarded it with little thought to take up with a glorified band of raiders. As they continued to walk, listening to the voices around him that almost echoed off the ice, he looked up at the horizon where a darkness lay, wondering how long they would need to range like this before they found what they were looking for. It would be unlikely that they'd just come across one wandering on the flats alone. Had Falgon ever been here? He could have been. He'd been all over the known world at some time or another when he was still a sell sword, off fighting other men's battles for them, or keeping their cargo's safe, or watching over their properties. But it was a hollow existence, he'd once said. With nothing but moving from one place to the next, and trying to get there intact. He'd seen more wondrous things, and more death in that time than any of their soldiers ever would, and never knew any single man for more than a couple of years. But now he had a place and a purpose, one that overruled all others. And he was happy to do it, and so much more. Was he playing for her? His dear mother who was anything but an ordinary woman, and not just because of her mesmerising eyes or beautiful marbled hair. She'd always been a gentle and caring lady, but she's changed since he left for Pale Haven. She'd become strong, and held their lands and kept their people in both his and his father's absence. But, she'd suffered and it hardened her. Luckily, she didn't need to face it all alone. The Trentins were always there to offer their hands and shoulders. Their strength and comfort. Milla was always with her, just as Berin had always been with his father. But, even he couldn't bring him back, and still nothing was heard. No one ever sent demands, but there were strange rumours from time to time. All that he dismissed. He would never abandon them, he would never leave. They could only hope, and wait. The wind started to increase, howling over the ridges cast across this white countryside and he wondered if it was snowing back home. They'd had some meagre falls, but most was already melted by noon if the day was not completely overcast. But he counted them lucky, for the heat and comfort of the burning mountain. It wasn't just a name. What were they doing right now? Perhaps sitting in the warmth of the common room, creating pretty works with needle and thread, and sharing stories from around their country. Who would be marrying who before long? Which nobles were coming to court to sanction a favour? Which lords continued to offer their kin as suitors? To be quite honest, he never saw past the faces. Comely faces, homely faces... They were pleasant enough, but there was no feeling for them. Not one...
"Lord Raeghun..." he turned back to a figure behind him.
"It's Rychon." he corrected rather irately, and Hilfert glanced away.
"Of course... I'm sorry, you look exactly like him." he pardoned, and Rychon lightly scoffed.
"So I've been told." he continued to walk, taking note of those around him and the dismal song of the wind over the peaks in the distance.
"He was a good man." Hilfert continued, and he glanced at him again with a heat in his arms.
"Is there something you want?" he asked, sooner not wanting his company. The former sentinel paused, as if searching for words.
"No... Just..." then he sighed.
"I wasn't with your father when he died." he started, and the fire blazed into his chest.
"He didn't die." the flames were creeping their way into his face and stomach as he glanced at Berin, walking with Berterin just a few feet behind.
"Berin said he was taken by someone." he told, and then turned to continue up the trail. Others were talking too, their voices a murmur above the wind. But Hilfert followed.
"When he was taken, I was not with him. I was with those who stayed behind to hold Harrenhal." he explained while Rychon attempted to control his breath. The air leaving his lungs into the cold air seemed almost thicker than most.
"We were told that everyone was killed." he said.
"They were. Our soldiers were put to the sword, those who surrendered were hanged. The sentinels taken and tortured to death. I... I can't tell you all the horrors that happened there..." Hilfert told softly. It was a week of blood, screams and the deepest of the hells...
"Then why are you here?" Rychon asked.
"I was lucky to have escaped. One of the charwomen took a liking to me, and she helped me. She's likely dead now, too." he breathed, and Rychon paused.
"Why didn't you come back to Mount Ardor?" he asked, and the eyes met his. Deep and sunken and as close to death without being a corpse.
"I wanted to... gods know I wanted to. But, I had no horse, no armour, not even a dagger to defend myself. And they'd broken me so, I couldn't take down a hen with my fists. If I was found by the enemy, I would have been slaughtered like a damn feast calf." then he glanced down.
"Perhaps I should have died, with the others. They... they kept their honour until the very end..." he looked at a small group of men passing by.
"Lord Berric found me, destroyed and half dead in a stream close to the Trident. They took me in, tended to me as best they could. And I joined them. What else could I do?" Rychon shrugged.
"If that's the choice you made, best to live with it I suppose." he replied as he walked, half wishing that the man would stumble and fall so he could leave him behind. Nothing he said would change what happened. What he'd done.
"I probably will, and it will haunt me until the day I die. I just... I just needed you to know that." Hilfert sighed, and Rychon glanced at him.
"Know what?" then he looked up, at the horizon far in the distance where the darkness continued to sweep closer.
"That... if I could change all of it in a heartbeat, I would." Hilfert finally said.
"You want me to pardon you for deserting your charge? For deserting my family? You did what you did and it's done." Rychon told, and Hilfert nodded.
"I know. But, I needed to tell you, I'm sorry." he said. Sorry that I found you, perhaps...
"Good. Now go, your Brotherhood might have need of you." he dismissed him, and watched as the gaunt figure sullenly walked off to join Thoros several feet in front with the Hound. He breathed in deeply, hoping the icy air would cool his core; then felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you remember what made your father a good ruler?" it was Berin beside him. He thought back to the many meetings in the Hollow, those he could remember. When his father spoke, it was like he was the only person in existence.
"Because he was sure of course. Resolute and unquestioned." he recalled. If he decreed that the fields would hold barley instead of corn it was so. Hells, if he decided the sky was grey it was so.
"That he was. But, there's one thing more." Berin agreed, and then his fingers softly tightened.
"He did not just speak. He listened." he reminded, and then continued on his way while Rychon stood. That was true. Everyone had their opportunity to speak before he did, and when it was him no one breathed a word unless asked a question or given an order. I'm not my father... How could I ever be like him..?
"It's getting colder." Berterin breathed as he passed, and Rychon looked up. It was. The clouds were churning in the sky, and white flakes began to fall to yet cover the world in their blanket again.
"Best to keep moving then. And stay together." Rychon decided, and they proceeded into the shadows of what might be a snowstorm waiting to devour them.
It was a cool afternoon at Mount Ardor, many members on their own business or visiting the village. Claira and Milla spent their time in the garden choosing flowers for their evening tables while the girls were in the common room, going about their embroidery. Falgon was the only other member with them here in the still lush green despite the cold, but it was good to have some distance from others. Claira looked at her friend, scanning the delicate red ringed petals of the carnations.
"Are you al right? You've been awfully quiet lately." Milla spared her a fleeting glance, but there was no glow in her eyes.
"I'm fine. I'm just thinking..." she breathed softly, and Claira drew a deep breath. Her thoughts weighed heavy on her.
"You're only quiet when you're troubled. It's hard to get you this..." she paused for a moment. What would be the right word? Angry?
"This uneasy." she decided.
"No, I'm not. There's nothing wrong with me, my friend." Milla insisted, feeling a sting to her throat as they continued down the garden path, but her silence was all too clear to their lady. It had become harder to hide from her, from those blue eyes that saw so clearly.
"My dear Milla. We've known each other since we were children. Do you truly think I would not see the cracks in your heart?" Claira tried to soothe her. Please tell me? Let me help you... Then Milla turned back, a soft shimmer behind hardened green eyes.
"I can't tell you..." I don't want to be pitied. But it was hard to fight the tears.
"I already said... that it does not bother me. So, how can I still feel like this... and say that it does not bother me?" she asked, looking down to hide her eyes as a sour bile crept into her mouth, and the sting became a bitter choke in her throat. But Claira sighed. Very well... I will not force you.
"I don't want to impose you. But you remain under my care, and your well-being is my responsibility as much as it is my direst concern. All of you." she assured, but then Milla looked up with a faint smile.
"I understand that. And I know you are always there for me. It's just... I'm afraid if I tell you, things will change. Maybe even everything..." she whispered as Claira started to turn. And Berin will most likely kill him. And I will lose everyone I love... My best friend, my sweet boy, my daughter maybe... and my husband will be so mad at me for not telling him... And then I will be forced to go. When she looked up, Claira sighed. But her frigid eyes held nothing but compassion.
"You are my family. No blood or fire or steel will change that. And I will protect my family, whatever the cost may be. If you do not trust me now, you might find it to do so someday. I will be here..." she continued to turn away from her. It will be wiser, not to press her now. There is still much to deal with. Suddenly a soft hand wrapped around her fingers.
"You're my sister, Claira. I will always trust you with all that I hold dear..." She felt hurt, it was painful not being able to share this weight with anyone, the tears all but a silent release for the torture. The gods only knew she wanted to, it would make her heart so much lighter. But of the outcome, that was something terrifying.
"I will speak with you, just..." When we are secure, and alone... Where no one will hear... But the cool fingers rested on hers, gentle and soothing.
"Come, the servers are waiting for the flowers." Claira gently urged, and they selected a bouquet of lilies, roses and small delicate flowers for their tables, then headed inside to present them to the serving girls, after which the ladies retreated back into the halls of the castle. But instead of joining the girls in the common room, Claira led Milla to the lord's hall, offering a cup of tea. There were still chambermaids and charwomen busy on some of the chores, but Milla stood next to the table as Claira passed her.
"You may return to your chores tomorrow." she announced, and without question they acknowledged her and left from the hall, where Falgon took his post at the doorway. She glanced up at him.
"Please see that we are not disturbed until given other instructions." she told, and he bowed his head.
"Certainly, your grace." then she sighed, and pushed the heavy door closed before coming back to Milla.
"We can have some tea, and I do believe we missed our prayers this morning." she suggested, and headed over to a smaller table nearer the doors open to the balcony, a fresh pot brought up this afternoon. She'd been keeping more tea in the lord's wing now that it was colder.
"As you wish, my lady." Milla agreed, and Claira proceeded to pour the steaming liquid into the waiting cups, using straws to mix honey into the contents before offering one to Milla, and settling down on the divan with the other in her own hands, and Milla joined her, staring at the cup in her hands.
"It's been three weeks since they left..." she breathed, and Claira nodded staring at the flames.
"They'll come back to us. They're strong, they're resilient, they're clever... and they're together. They'll come back." she assured. He promised me he would... He promised... She reminded herself of that constantly. They finished the tea, mostly in silence before making their way to the fountain where they prayed for their family's safe return. They did this morning, but sometimes it was a comfort to come back and beseech the gods favour again. Milla's prayer though, seemed longer as Claira waited for her, and they finally took a seat on the small bench beneath a tree, reluctant to leave the safety of the lord's sanctuary. This was a comforting place, shielded and always warm. A while later, immersed in this place, Milla released a tense breath, her hands together in front of her.
"Claira..." she started, soft and slow. I can talk to her... I can... Then she looked up. I have to...
"What happened..." but which words were right? The past few weeks had been unexpected, and difficult. The situation between the children was a strain, and then the men left, and now this as well...
"Bella came to me." she breathed, and Claira nodded.
"She would, of course..." but in her heart, she felt dismayed. About what? I hope she isn't planning to go to Bristlemane, after all...
"She had some uneasiness to her stomach, and warmness... She has not come to me since she went to see the maester." she started softly, feeling cheerless and worried. But Claira seemed calm.
"You suspect there may be more to this?" she asked, and Milla slowly nodded.
"I think so. Perhaps... I may be wrong, but... What if it is? What will happen?" she asked, hiding the desperation. Everything will change.
"I see." she drew a breath, but did not seem to be upset.
"If it is so, then it will happen. And we will live..." she said calmly as Milla stared at her. Unfortunate as the circumstances were, a new life was a blessing. Then she looked at her friend, the clear green eyes still anxious.
"What are you afraid of, Milla?" she asked tenderly, and she looked away.
"I did not suspect this so soon... I'm afraid that Berin will never forgive Rychon for this when things are already this uneasy." she took a moment, and then breathed out.
"But, I will never forsake my daughter. I will support her no matter the outcome. If this is the way things are, then so be it." she determined.
"And of Berin's reaction to Bella being with child, I assume?" Claira added softly.
"He might not forgive her, either. He won't repudiate them, but he will hold on to that anger in his heart... and things will change." she whispered, but then could find it to smile.
"I know that Rychon will not stand idly by to see her struggle, he will do what he believes is right. I... I'm sorry my friend..." she whimpered,
"Berin will never shun a child, much less his own blood. But if it comes to such, I will send Bella to Pale Haven or Hightower to have her baby." Claira proposed, and Milla shot back stunned.
"Not alone, of course. Stephanie will remain at her side, and Petyr will go as her protector." she added, and Milla breathed out with a half relieved sigh.
"I know Berin won't shun his blood, I just thought of how he reacted to what happened, he won't take this lightly... I'm grateful for the suggestion and all of your support." For a moment she seemed to be favourable to that notion.
"What will we tell people, of where she is?" she asked, and Claira smiled.
"I don't see why it should be anyone else's concern where she goes to learn. But, in such case, she is visiting to refine her court." she decided, and Milla nodded. The uneasiness was leaving her, finally.
"Very well. And after? After she had the baby, what will happen then? And if Rychon finds out that we sent Bella away and he won't know his own child, he's like to murder us." she mentioned, but Claira laughed softly.
"Bella won't stay elsewhere, so he will know his child, have no doubt. Our grandchildren will grow up here, regardless of anything else." she insisted, And gods forbid if I must take the child into my own care, I will... Finally, Milla smiled. The relief driving the darkness from her clear green eyes.
"So, are you mad at what happened?" she asked, and Claira rested against the back of the bench.
"No. No, I'm not mad. It came as a shock when Falgon told me, I won't deny it." she confessed, and Milla again seemed aghast.
"He knows?" but Claira regarded her calmly.
"He knows. Rychon spoke with him, rather than to approach me directly." she looked up at the sky.
"Just as Bella revealed this to you, rather than directly to her father." she breathed in deep.
"A daughter is her father's joy, as much as a son is his mother's pride. And while Falgon is not Rychon's father, he might have felt much the same. To confide in someone they trusted." she told, and Milla looked away. A daughter is her father's joy, as much as a son is his mother's pride... The Grey Tom had said that.
"But..." Claira continued as Milla's attention came back to her, she just stared at the space in front of her, her blue eyes soft.
"With everything we've lost... All of us... Won't a new smile, a new laugh..." then she looked at Milla.
"A new life, be something wonderful?" she asked, and Milla nodded. They'd suffered losses, all of them. It had been a long time since they truly gained; and this may indeed be a sudden comfort sent by the gods.
"It will. And truth be told, I have thought of it as well. It will be grand if she is... Not just to you, or to me. For everyone." she agreed.
"Whatever happens, we will face it together. But we will do so when the time comes." Claira reassured her, and she nodded.
"Yes. Yes, we will." then she laughed softly.
"Thank you Claira, I needed this. I feel so much better now." she sighed, and felt Claira's hand on hers.
"Good. I am relieved to hear that. And I hope you don't feel like you must hide anything from me again." she gently teased her friend.
"No, I won't. I will speak with you." she promised.
They made their way up an incline, shuffling along the icy slopes as Rychon thought back over the past day, or perhaps it was night. He wasn't quite sure. His arm still emitted a burning throb, but at least the bleeding had stopped. He looked back at Berin, his son walking by his side. He was walking slowly, and had difficulty breathing for a time, but at least that seemed better now. Thoros of Myr had the worst of it, as he ambled along next to Jorah who'd offered him a hand. Their party was considerably smaller now... The storm swept over them, and they decided to press on rather than sitting in the snow waiting for it to pass. In the blizzard with one of their members wandering on ahead of the party, Tormund pointed as they spied a shadow in the distance, something big and hulking.
"A bear." Jorah Mormont had identified it as they stared at the figure, and the Hound briefly commented on how big the creature was.
"Do bears have blue eyes?" Gendry had asked. No. They didn't. Their eyes were black, or brown, as it happens. Then came the attack as the scout ran back and weapons were drawn. The beast snatched him away, and vanished into the swirl of flakes and shadows even as Jon ran to try and help him, nothing left but a discarded spear and several smears of blood on the snow. They huddled together, circled backs-to-backs, swords and spears and axes and hammers waiting for it to appear again. Then a sudden scream cut the howl of the storm, and a great snow bear fell upon them with a fury not known to the living, with eyes burning blue like the stars. If not for the holes that exposed the ribs and lungs and guts, they might not have seen it at all. They'd lost at least three companions, and many were injured as the monster swiped and gnarled and snapped at them wildly. Jon himself was struck away when he slammed his sword "Long Claw" into the beast's back, landing on dirt and snow several feet away. The Brotherhood summoned flames from their swords, and advanced to meet the enraged animal along with himself and his company. It snarled at them, more a scream than a roar as steel dug into flesh. It clawed at them, groping and biting and growling, and as a massive paw came down the rotten claws tore through the fur and wool and skin on his right arm. Berin took a hit to his chest, and another member was thrown savagely through the air, crashing down on the snow where he lay still. A strike from lord Berric's longsword set the bear alight, but for all their effort the slashing steel only seemed to anger the bear rather than injure it. It stood, the icy eyes fixed on ser Sandor, letting out a shuttering scream as he stared back, seeming for a moment to have lost all thought of where he was. It lunged forward to tear the life out of him, but brave Thoros of Myr stepped in front of it, and was knocked to the ground as jagged teeth clamped down on the burning blade, trying to force their way through to flesh. Tormund struck at the bear with his axe, but again infuriated the monster swatted him away with a savage snarl before returning its attention back to Thoros, and continued to battle its way through the sword as the man struggled to keep the jaws from his skin. Then it suddenly tore the weapon from his hands and flung it aside, finally sinking its teeth into the priest's chest, furiously shaking for a better grip as he screamed. He cringed, he'd never heard sounds like that, and for a moment hoped he would never hear them again. In that moment, perhaps mad or possessed he flung himself forward driving his own sword deep into the putrid gut; but it was not before Jorah Mormont of Bear Island plunged a dagger of dragon glass into the beast's back that it fell, and Thoros was dragged away, leaving the burning corpse to wither in the snow. Once at a safe distance and sure the monster would not rise again, they examined the priest, and the carnage that was his chest. Ripped to shreds and full of deep puncture wounds, Jorah had urged to return to Eastwatch to treat the injuries, but the priest refused. So, falling to what they had they gave him wine to drink before dousing the tears and holes, and Berric cauterized the lesions with his blade. But for all the horror of that, he found the power to jape about being "bit by a dead bear". It was a sour joke, but they hauled him up and pressed forth, following the prints left by the creature, and mercifully some while later the winds and the snow calmed, allowing them a lighter sky. Then he paused, waiting for Berin and Berterin on the incline.
"How are you faring?" he asked as they neared, and Berin looked up.
"Better now, that the air has cleared." he breathed, and Rychon nodded. Had the bear struck him any harder than it did, it might as damn well near stopped his heart.
"And your arm?" he returned, and Rychon glanced down.
"It doesn't hurt any more. I'll be al right." he lied, and they continued. Just up the slope, they could hear Jorah asking Thoros about the siege on Pyke, to which he replied that he scarcely remembered anything at all, and that others had told him what had happened there later. He was becoming weaker as time went by, and even struggled with the wineskin he always kept on him. Jorah admired him, saying that he'd thought Thoros of Myr was the bravest man he'd ever seen, to which the priest modestly replied that he may simply have been the drunkest as he continued on. But no. He was brave, even if he did not see it himself. He'd proven as much several times. At the front of their column, Tormund stopped raising his hand and silence fell over them. There were other sounds, the thud of something hard on stone and snow, and the clang of steel. Someone else was out there, and it sent a lash of warmth up his spine. He could see Tormund and Jon silently creep forward for a view over the ridge at the trail below where the sounds were emitting from. There was a brief exchange, and they hurried back to the group soundlessly.
"We saw a party of wights heading down the path." Jon told, glancing at Tormund.
"The trail heads to a stream flowing by the south bank. We could ambush them there." he suggested.
"We can't just fling ourselves at them. If they're patrolling it means they're alert. They could hear us coming a league off." Berin cautioned, and Jorah stared at him.
"What do you propose?" he asked, and he took a moment for thought.
"We need to confuse them, flaw their attention, even for just a moment. We might have an advantage then." he offered. But the dead, did not think like the living. Did not react like the living. Honestly, who could know what they were capable of or what not? There was another stretch of silence, and then Jon turned to Gendry.
"Gendry, you and Berterin head down the hill. Build a fire at the trail and hide yourself. Be quick, and be quiet." he instructed, and they nodded before rushing off ahead as the remainder of the party followed. While they concealed themselves the youngsters cleared a patch in the snow before throwing discarded twigs and roots together, struggling with the stones the sounds were nearing down the path, and at the last instant as they heard the clamouring off the stones, a small spark was grabbed by the wood and it took fire eagerly, then they ducked away behind stones and mounds of dirt and snow. Just a short while later the lazy footsteps could be heard clearly over the ground as the group straggled by. Rychon felt his heart pounding against his ribs, the sounds around him all but drowned out. Then there was silence as the group stopped, their attention caught by the burning fire. He glanced at Jon several feet away, peering carefully over the stones where he hid. And then at Berin and Renko to his right, waiting for the signal. He breathed in deep, the cool air filling his lungs as his muscles grew warm. Just one... We only need one... The others don't matter... his hand tightened around the grip of his sword. Then they sprang on them, fortunate that they did seem to be confused for a moment. With blades drawn and burning and voices churning the air into turmoil they fell upon them hard and hysterically. The creatures defended themselves, and they found that they were stronger than what their figures would suggest. Jon himself battled against what would be called a White Walker, skin pale as ice with long snow white hair and shining blue eyes. Hammers crushed bone, blades cut through wasted flesh, spears pierced organs that were no longer of any use and axes split the bodies asunder. Jorah had lost his dagger, and struggled with a wight's strength around his throat as Rychon cut down a creature charging him, intent to reach him before the life was drawn from the knight's body. But as he turned, something curled around his ankle and on the unsteady snow he slipped and fell, his head slamming onto the ground. Dazed, he looked up at a shadow above him ready to strike a rusted axe into his chest. But instead, the gleaming tip of a sword burst through its gut, and tore the chest from the legs and Berterin stood behind it. He reached down, and Rychon took his hand as he hauled him back to his feet. Then a strange sound rang off the stones, a dismal steely song like a frozen bell the moment before Jon Snow's blade cut through the body of his foe, and all the other corpses fell, crumbling to dust on the snow. All but for one. It stood there, snarling and screeching at them as their group circled it. Grey, decaying skin patched a once lengthened face and wisps of pale curls clung to what was left on the unexposed skull. The blue eyes regarded them, but strangely it did not attack, yet. It stared at them, like it was afraid. Hilfert moved forward, shoving the creature with a spear held in his hands, forcing it forward. Then Tormund discarded his axe, and the wight charged at him. With a single hard blow he knocked the creature to the ground where it sprawled under the weight of ser Sandor while Gendry, Jorah, the Brotherhood and Berin tried to hold it down. For something foul and decomposing, it was unnaturally strong. Suddenly it let out a wail, high and piercing and agonizingly loud, echoing off the stones and down the pass where they'd come through. Sandor clasped his hand over the gaping mouth to drown out the sound, but the force ripped flesh from the mouth. He grunted in disgust as he flicked the mess from his hand, and again attempted to silence the creature as Jon stood listening. Rychon joined him while the others continued to subdue the dead soldier, binding its hands and legs together while Tormund sent the toe of his boot into its side a couple of times.
"I thought there would be more." Rychon breathed softly, watching as Jon examined the distances.
"There are more." he whispered.
"Is something wrong?" Rychon whispered, not sure why he did so. And then it struck him. There were more sounds, and it wasn't coming from their group. It was still distant, but it was clear. The sound of a mass heading their way, the sound of thousands of feet. Jon looked back, Tormund and Jorah had looked up at him, they could hear it too. Jorah quickly pulled a bag from his furs and pulled it over the creature's head while others used more rope to bind it securely. They got to their feet, and Jon came back to the group with Rychon, giving his attention to Gendry after considering the paths available to them and their group gathered, the creature carried on Sandor's shoulder.
"Run back to Eastwatch! Get a raven to Daenerys, tell her what's happened!" he ordered, but Gendry shook his head.
"I'm not leaving you." he refused.
"You're the fastest! Go, now!" he glanced at Berterin, whom he might have expected to come with him, but the boy was evidently of no mind to leave his father behind. Reluctantly he turned, choosing the quickest path back to the Wall castle while the group chose another. Suddenly, Tormund grabbed hold of the hammer held in his hand.
"You'll go faster without the hammer! Give it!" he told, and again he was reluctant.
"Give it!" Tormund ordered, and with that he let go and sprinted away. And while he made his way south-west, they headed east through a pass, hoping to mislead the mass that would now pursue them. On the other side, they came upon what seemed to be a lake with a tiny island in its centre, yelling to those behind to quicken their pace to keep up, hoping to have a better defensible position from its height. But as they stepped onto the lake, the ice cracked beneath their weight.
"Stop!" Jorah cried and they paused, the ice snapping and splitting beneath their feet. Jon glanced back through the pass behind them, where a black mass flooded towards them. Thousands of undead stormed through, angry and ravenous.
"Go!" he ordered, and they ran again heedless of the splintering ice beneath them, heading for the island. Runners rounded the lake intent on cutting off their escape. Someone fell, and Renko quickly pulled him up to run again, but the wights were closing the distance between them. From the vantage of the stones in the lake, the members scanned the world around them, the fact that they were being surrounded all too real.
"Faster!" Renko ordered the straggling member as they bound forward, but the fall must have limped him. Three creatures grabbed for him, their bony hands catching onto fur and leather and he fell again. The force shattered the ice and they fell through, each broken shard dragging another with it finally forming a destroyed circle of frigid water around them as scores of corpses vanished from sight and sank to the bottom of the lake. Renko reached the group, clambering up the stones to join the party and Jon breathed, and breathed, and breathed again. While the ice was broken they could not be reached by the damned, and he watched as the ring formed a solid wall of black bodies with blue eyes watching them. They would be safe for now, but it would only last so long. Silently he prayed, and hoped that Gendry would reach the castle soon, and the raven would reach Dragonstone before they ran out of time. All they could do now was wait as darkness slowly closed over them. Several members took watch while the others huddled together for warmth, and exchanged positions as they waited out what must have been night as the creature still squirmed and screeched behind them on the stones. But by morning, nothing had changed as members struggled to their feet. The ring of death was still around them, still watching. Sandor sent yet another blow of his boot into the wight's side, releasing an irritated wail from the creature which seemed to rile the others, and they listened as the angry voices emitted from all around them. Berric knelt down to wake his friend.
"Thoros?" but no, their group had grown even smaller yet. Thoros of Myr lay silent on the snow, his skin bereft of colour and his eyes open to the sky just the way he had been watching the stars, likely having succumbed to his wounds when the cold hands of the Stranger came for him in the darkness. There were no words, no tears, but hearts grieved. Sandor knelt as well, and sighed.
"They say that it's one of the better ways to go." he tried to comfort. It was a kinder death than most people faced, but if it was a comfort, it was a small one. Then he pulled the wineskin from the body, removed the cap and drank.
"Lord of light..." Berric started, folding his friend's hands over his chest.
"Show us the way. Come to us in our darkness and lead your servant into the light." Berric prayed. Jon took the wineskin from Sandor, and then looked at the others.
"We have to burn his body." he told, and then emptied what remained in the wineskin over the corpse.
"We'll all be close behind him, unless the lord of light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire." Tormund hinted, and Berric glanced at him. He drew the sword from his side, and summoned flames from the steel; then touched the blade to the soaked furs.
"Lord of light, come to us in our darkness. For the night is dark, and full of terrors..." he again prayed as they watched the body burn. Jon made his way down to the edge of the island where Rychon, Berin and Berterin were standing watch, then Jorah followed, taking a place next to him.
"We'll all freeze, soon." Jorah softly breathed, and then looked at Jon.
"When you killed the White Walker, almost all the dead that followed it fell. Why?" it was a curious thing.
"Maybe he was the one that turned them." Jon supposed, and Jorah nodded as a thought sparked in his head.
"We could go for the walkers." he suggested, ten White Walkers would be easier to deal with than ten thousand soldiers.
"Maybe we'll stand a chance." Rychon regarded the mass around them.
"We can't risk it. There are too many" he said, and Jon agreed.
"No, we can't. We need to take that thing back with us." he reminded, and Berric also slowly joined them, watching the soldiers around them.
"There's a raven flying for Dragonstone now. Daenerys is our only chance." Jon told, hoping that she might make it sooner rather than later.
"No, there's another." Berric suddenly said, his eye fixed on a figure high on the hill mounted on a withered steed, his blue eyes gazing down from a ragged face, small spines of ice protruding from his scalp much like a frozen crown. Then he brought his sword up and pointed.
"Kill him." he motioned towards the king himself, and Jon looked up at the monster he had hoped not to see again.
"He turned them all." Berric told, but Berin scoffed.
"With thousands of his soldiers around us, how do you propose we get to him? Ask for a fucking personal audience?" he mocked, and Jon shook his head.
"You don't understand..." Jon breathed, but how could anyone truly understand? Berric disregarded Berin's statement, and glanced at Jon.
"The lord brought you back. He brought me back. No one else, just us." Sandor joined them on the edge of the island as well.
"Did he do it to watch us freeze to death?" Berric asked, and though there was sense in the question there was none in the situation they found themselves in.
"Careful, Berric. You lost your priest. This is your last life." The Hound warned.
"I've been waiting for the end for a long time. Maybe the lord brought me here to find it." Berric decided, but the Hound did not seem convinced.
"Every lord I've ever met has been a cunt. Don't see why the lord of light should be any different." he complained again. Then Berterin turned, bringing his eyes away from the still masses.
"They haven't moved. I suggest that we do the same, for now." he told, and with little options available, and lacking the strength to fight their way free or the wings to fly, that was agreed to.
Bella stood at her window, looking up at the stars that were bright in a cloudless sky. It had been a long cold day, but she still felt warm. She'd seen maester Adlyn once more, but again asked for Camomile tea to calm her nerves. He'd asked her if she'd experienced any sensitivity to her breasts, or nausea. But no. It was just the heat, and the tightness. Recently, she'd developed an odd habit of rubbing her stomach when she was alone, which was both comforting and irritating at the same time. She huffed, suddenly realizing that she was doing it right now. Stop that, you ninny! She forced her hands away from her to rest on the stone of the window, and returned her eyes to the stars wondering where they were and what they were doing, while somewhere in the distance a white streak split the black night sky. Could they see that, too..? Were they cold? Where they hungry? At least, they won't be lonely. She missed them, her father and brother... and her friend, however much she wanted to deny it. To her right, she could see lights flickering in the windows of the barracks, once in a while the shadow of a guard would pass through the light, either coming from or going to their rounds on the midnight exchange. Below her was a small vacant stone courtyard used by the guards lighted with a few torches, ringed with the curtain wall on the cliff side. Beyond that was the ocean separating the keep from the continent, then woodlands and the lands that spanned to the horizon, and Renko's family was in the village waiting for a husband and father to return. His wife was a kind homely woman called Braya who tended one of the stalls in the village centre selling meat for the farmers. She came to the castle frequently to see her husband, oft bringing the children with her. Three girls and two boys, spirited and boisterous, but not altogether unruly, and lady Claira seemed to enjoy them. And how they loved her, the girls especially bewitched by her hair. But, she found a special kind of joy in little Hazel and Ricket. She was grim with Rychon away, all could see. It was a cruel thing for her to feel so alone despite those around her. He was all she had. The only blood that was hers... But then again, he might not be. She looked at the moon high in their sky, it had already turned. Then a knock at her door drew her attention and she looked back startled, thinking she dreamed it. It sounded again, louder. Who in the world..? and she rushed forward to open the door, finding a familiar face waiting on the other side.
"Devan? What are you doing here?" she asked as he quickly slipped inside and closed the wood behind him.
"How did you get here?" she again asked. Since their lords left, guards were posted at the entrances of the wings; then she looked down at his bare feet.
"Watt's asleep, so I slipped past him. It's quieter without soles on your feet." he teased, and she shook her head.
"You... You shouldn't-" he seized her hands, and then smiled.
"It's al right, Bella. I know. And I forgive you." he told, but she felt utterly baffled beyond words.
"I know what happened wasn't my fault, and that you feel terrible. That whatever argument you and 'lord ass' had, shouldn't have been directed at me." Don't call him that! She wanted to yell at him, but then his hands tightened around hers.
"But, I'll let you be with me again." he announced, but still she struggled with her words.
"Will let me be with you?" truth be told, she hadn't thought much about him since that day. He led her to the bed where they sat down.
"Yes. You're miserable without me, everyone can see it." then he laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder.
"Devan..." It's not you... she wanted to tell him, but the touch was almost comforting.
"Many told me not to; that I should just leave you be. But, I don't want to see you this grim all the time." he told, and she looked down. Maybe he was right. She'd been despondent, and terse. And maybe, he wasn't deserving of her scorn. Maybe... he could bring her away from all of that. He was right. It wasn't his fault.
"Thank you..." she whispered, and he took her face in his hands.
"It will be al right. We'll be al right, you'll see." he assured her, but somehow she had difficulty believing that.
"I... I don't know, Devan. Do you really think so?" but then he smiled gain, confident as he always was.
"I love you. Isn't that enough?" he asked, and she glanced down.
"It... I just don't want to be disappointed..." she said softly, Again... Did he ever think of her? She heard him softly scoff, and looked up at his smirking face. It was a handsome face with grey eyes and dark burgundy hair, strong and defined.
"Now why do you think I would do that to you?" he grinned, and then pulled her forward to meet her mouth with his. His kiss was demanding, as it always had been; their time apart had not lessened his fervency. There was little gentleness in him... Then she pulled back, just to allow herself a breath. For all that he was, Devan was a skilled fighter and had a sturdy mind, as well as a fine singing voice she may confess. He knew what he wanted to accomplish, he'd spoken of such things many times. She could be al right with him, in the end.
"I'm sorry. And I did miss you." she confessed, and he leaned closer.
"I know you did." he softly laughed,
"And from now on, you will stay close to me." he told, and then she moved forward to kiss him, her tender touch lost as he returned it eagerly. His right hand moved into her hair, while the left slid around her side and pulled her roughly closer, his tongue starting to move in between her lips. What does it matter..? Her arms coiled around his neck as he pulled at the ribbon holding her white night gown to her body. Why should I care..? She felt the fabric slide away, revealing her skin as his kiss deepened still, she yielded at last to the hunger of his starved lust. My father's not here... His hands were everywhere, her back, her breasts, her thighs, and his mouth to her neck as she gasped. My brothers aren't here... Suddenly he took her from the bed and set her down on the edge of the dresser, her hands holding his neck while one hand adjusted what remained of her garment and the other loosed his own. He's not here... Then he seized her again, his kiss smothering her and his freed hand bringing her closer to his excited desire. I'm ruined, besides... She could feel him, warm and thirsty to the skin of her thighs. Why would it be any different..? Suddenly she gasped, an explosion of warmth flooding her body from her stomach into her limbs and cheeks, and she looked at him.
"No, wait!" she called, almost begged, and he stared at her, visibly disappointed.
"Please, please wait..." she pleaded, and he moved slightly back.
"For what? There's no one here." he moved forward to kiss her again, trying to continue but she pushed him gently away.
"Please, I can't. Not now..." she said, and he moved back.
"Bella..." he breathed and she looked away. I can't tell you why... Then there were footsteps in the hallway, and a knock to her door as her heart froze.
"Hide!" he ducked away, and she stood from the dresser pulling her gown to the way it was, and the knock came again.
"Just a moment..." she answered, retying the ribbon and rectifying her hair. But the knock came again.
"Enter." the door slowly opened, and a familiar face cautiously peered inside.
"Are you al right?" it was her mother, and she smiled. Relief washing the heat away.
"I'm fine." she replied as Milla stepped inside.
"I heard voices." she noted, and Bella glanced back.
"Oh, that? I was... speaking with Veric." she quickly told, indicating the knight on her dresser. Milla smiled as she approached, taking in the fine carving.
"I see. It is rather lonely without them, isn't it?" she agreed, and Bella sighed.
"It is. But, they'll come home soon, wont they?" Milla nodded.
"They will, my sweet." then she turned towards her again.
"It's past midnight, you should be asleep." she told, and Bella thought for a moment.
"I was watching the stars for a while, wondering where they are. I won't stay up much longer." she promised, and Milla gently took her hands in hers.
"Very well. Good night, my Bella." she leaned forward, and gently kissed her brow.
"Sleep well, mother." she replied, and watched her mother leave her chamber, closing the door behind her. She felt suddenly tired, her heart racing through every vein. Then she heard Devan haul himself from under the bed, and they laughed as he came to his feet.
"That could have gone worse." he joked, and she nodded.
"Count yourself fortunate that it was my mother, and not ser Falgon. He would have dragged you from your hiding place and flung you from my window." she told. He'd been known to round the halls of the castle sporadically himself.
"Indeed. He scares me." Devan confessed, and she sniggered.
"He should. Silent men, like silent waters, are deep and dangerous." she warned him, He's a deadly man, for all his patience... and he sighed.
"We should both get to rest, I'll meet you tomorrow." she suggested, and he nodded slowly.
"As you insist, my lady." then he kissed her again, and blessedly left without further argument. She looked back at the carving on her dresser, taking in all the fine details. Was it you..? She came closer to admire him again, but then stared in astonishment. The dark spheres on the horse's flanks which she had thought was simply blotches on the wood, was the Taugere sigil. Expertly branded into the timber with a hot needle. Then she smiled again, hidden in her secrecy. If by chance I am with child, I would rather know that it is his...
Rychon took account of his company as best he could, although his mind wandered frequently, and deliberately back home to his family... Perhaps more than most, to his best friend. They'd been here for days, he couldn't tell exactly how many as the watch was often exchanged. The provisions in the bags all but spent, they would not last much longer. He pitied the other members of their party, being made to suffer the cold while his own blood kept him warm and safe from this utterly inhospitable air. Then slowly approached Berin, standing watch on the edge of the lake as the dead continued to watch back, still not having moved at all from where they were. It was difficult not to wonder, what were they waiting for? Were they waiting for them to move first, or waiting for them to freeze, or starve to death? Who could say?
"How are you doing?" he asked, and Berin glanced back, bits of frost clinging to his hair and his arms crossed over his chest to conserve what heat he had.
"I'll be fine. We're just used to warmer days, than here." he assured, and to the lordling's relief there was no quiver to the sentinel's voice.
"Al right. If you need anything-" he started, but Berin smiled lightly.
"Don't worry about me, my lord." he told resiliently, and Rychon nodded. Then he turned and headed up the stones to his friend, where he was sitting against a small rise, huddled up in the cold. He'd been sitting there since before what might have been dawn.
"Berterin." he knelt next to him, taking his shoulder and a shard of ice was driven deep into his core. The youngster was pale and shivering, and his lips were turning blue. Oh, fuck! No... No, no, no! This can't be happening! For that instant his mind did not respond, then he snatched his hand and pulled.
"Come on, get up!" he ordered, hauling Berterin to his feet.
"I'm... I'm cold..." he managed, and Rychon held him tightly to his chest, trying desperately to pass his warmth to his friend, but the winds were blowing cold.
"I know." he told as he stroked his arms and back, then he looked away, to the men keeping watch.
"Lord Berin!" he called, perhaps it was the tone of his voice that made the sentinel whip around and rush up to them. The sight of his son left the lord shocked for half a heartbeat.
"Oh, fuck it." his first thought was to rip the furs from his own body and drape it over the boy as Rychon continued to rub at his back and arms while he shuddered uncontrollably. But as he fumbled with the straps, Rychon's eyes met his.
"Don't be stupid!" he snapped at him, and his hands came away, knowing it would be of little help in any instance. Then Berin looked up at two others.
"Renko! Hilfert! Get your asses over here!" he ordered, and they rushed up to them to receive their bidding, irrespective of which order they belonged to.
"Shield him." Rychon told, with Berin to his son's right side, Renko - the taller of the two took a position behind the lordling while Hilfert stood to his left to ward off the wind. Sensing their distress, Jon suddenly appeared.
"What's wrong?" he asked, and Berin glanced at him. His deep green eyes distraught.
"Berterin is sick." he breathed, knowing there was nothing they could do. They were miles from a maester, their wares spent and no means for a fire. It seemed all but hopeless.
"I'm... I'm sorry... Rychon..." Berterin whispered through his ragged breaths.
"Don't worry. You're going to be al right. I'm going to get you home." he promised, but all he could do was pray. Please, gods... Please help me. Please. Please help me save him... Please... others took up the watch as time dragged by agonizingly slowly and their small group stood huddled close together to protect an ailing member while the phoenix core of their heir warmed him. Jon and Tormund continued to round the island, every so often returning to the group to offer a hand. Their intentions were kind, but with no means, there was nothing that could be done. The best option was to shelter Berterin from the cold air while Rychon continued to hold him, sharing his warmth. Some time later, he started to sway, and twice his weight dropped and they had to pull him back up to his feet.
"Berterin?" Rychon called for his attention, and in a whisper he mumbled something back. He was starting to lose conciousness in brief instances.
"It's getting worse." Berin breathed, forcing his voice to come through hard to hide the desperation. Rychon shook his friend slightly.
"Come on, look at me!" he ordered, and the face slowly lifted, revealing lips that were now a purplish blue.
"What's my name?" he asked, and Berterin's face slowly lowered.
"R... R... Rye..." he tried, but the name faded into a mumble.
"My full name! Full name, Berterin!" Rychon demanded, again shaking his friend to bring him back. He felt like slapping him, but that would not serve.
"R... Rye... Rychon... Tau... Taugere..." he tried again, a bit louder this time and Rychon smiled.
"Good." he praised, but then felt Berterin slump again slightly, and once more he shook him gently. They couldn't let him go to sleep, it was one he would never wake from, and the anguish burnt like the sun in the western sky.
"Come on, Bertie!" he called, and the face lifted again.
"It... It's... Berterin..." he corrected, revealing clouded eyes, but he was alert at least.
"Good." Rychon again praised, continuing his efforts to warm him, and battering him with questions to keep his mind active. Berin looked down at Sandor, standing on the edge of the island, still staring at the mass around them. Slowly he reached down and picked a stone off the side, then flung it through the air. What the hell are you doing? It struck one of the soldiers on the other side, knocking its jaw from the rotten skull, but it resumed its position. He mumbled something, and then reached down for another stone. Realizing what he intended, Berin rushed down to stop him, but once again the stone sailed through the air just before he grabbed onto his arm and wrenched him back. In dismay he watched the stone crash down on the ice and glide across, coming to a halt in front of the soldier's feet, and it slowly looked down.
"Oh, fuck..." the Hound breathed in the still air. The broken ring had frozen again, the water becoming solid and passable to the dead.
"Thank you, so much Clegane. I haven't had a good fuck in weeks, and now you've gone and fucked us all." Berin scowled as he unsheathed his sword, watching as the creatures slowly started to saunter forward over the lake. The remaining members of the party gathered, weapons ready for the coming horde that ambled closer, and closer. Rychon turned to Hilfert.
"Watch over him!" he commanded, and then turned unsheathing his own sword. The former sentinel obeyed, taking Berterin's shoulders and guiding him away higher onto the island while Rychon descended towards the attackers. The warhammer was the first to slam into a soldier, knocking it away, and others followed cut down with swords and axe and spears, for what little use they were. The flaming sword set some ablaze, blades cut through limbs and necks and bones, dragon glass splintered bodies into ash and the warhammer created a new hole in the ice where the lake consumed the bodies. They fought and fought with no relief, they would be swarmed before too long. With no way to go forward, Rychon and Berin could at the very least remain where they were, guiding attacks away and cutting down their attackers as they passed, using the foe's own strength and momentum to their advantage while others were not so fortunate, but ultimately they were forced to give ground with thousands of soldiers advancing on their small group. A wight grabbed onto Tormund, but he threw it down splitting the creature with his axe while Berric drove his flaming steel into another. They cut wildly, but then a burning figure stumbled up the slope towards their prisoner, clumsily fumbling at the ropes. Jon noticed, and rushed up to cut it down. They were attempting to save it, Rychon realized. They were not completely insentient beings after all... Bones and bodies continued to shatter in the frenzy while Hilfert struck down two awkward stragglers that made their way up the hillside, and their group grew smaller and smaller as members were overwhelmed and brought down.
"Fall back!" Jon called, once and then twice as the remaining warriors again gave ground. Tormund urged them on, fending off more grappling hands as they retreated, felling swarms as they came. In an instant, the dead closed over the wildling headman, dragging him down as bony hands reached from the hole in the ice and he struggled screaming. But when all seemed lost, Sandor Clegane struck the body from above him, and dragged him up the hill to continue the fight, and on and on it went. Jon dragged the wight to the height of the island where Hilfert kept Berterin as the battle raged on, long and desolate and all but hopeless, and it seemed there was no end to the horde. Jon continued to drag the body up the slope when one came from behind, cutting the rope and grabbing the King in the North. Hilfert moved forward to shove the creature away, giving the White Wolf the space to shove his sword through the creature's gut. Then he stepped around the king, and took hold of the hands to pull the wight further to the height of the mound where Berterin stood, holding his sword in shivering hands.
"Put that away, boy! You can't fight the way you are now!" he told and then turned to face any attackers.
"I... I can... Still try..." Berterin insisted, clasping the sword tighter, waiting for a black mass rushing him. But Hilfert shoved him aside, focusing the attacks on him as two screaming figures came at him. He cut down one, while Jon opened another's back splitting the spine; but the ground stopped beneath his feet and he fell into the death underneath, swallowed by the hands and teeth waiting below as Jon watched dismally. The attention of the monsters were on him for but a moment as the screams died with him, then they turned yet again, clawing and reaching for those above. Berterin sat up, feeling the cold through him, much like the fingers of death. There was no more space to go back, and the enemy pressed in on them with no remorse. Rychon glanced back at him, and then cut down another soldier screaming at him. If they could only hold their ground, there had to be an end to them. Everything had limits, sadly even their strength. Tormund turned suddenly, startled by the touch to his back, but it was only Jon. There was nowhere left to go, but if they must die here they would do so fighting until the breath left their bodies. Until the very end... swords and hammers and axes and spears and teeth and nails if need be. Fight they will... Wights started to scale the height behind them, and their circle grew smaller. Jon raised his sword to engage them, heedless of the never-ending mass, but then a rush of wind and a light and a surge of blaze above them made him duck away, and the lake exploded into fire, many creatures with it as they floated away in ash on the wind or sank to the bottom of the waters. Rychon looked up, where three massive shadows big as barges floated effortlessly in the sky on wide wings, bathing the world in fire and light, and the absolute awe stunned him. He would have thought he was dreaming if he wasn't so tired. Dragons... Real dragons... They were magnificent creatures. They roared and flamed, the world a field of fire in the frozen, and for now the advance of death was slowed. The largest, a huge fearsome giant of coal and crimson scales settled on the northern side of the island, shattering more black bodies in bright fires. On his back was a beautiful woman with long silver hair, garbed in white fur against the cold. The Hound hauled the wight over his shoulder as the dragon crept closer, bathing more soldiers in fire and Jon approached as the woman reached down to take his hand, but he turned towards another creature scampering up the slope, and he turned away to cut them down. Others rushed up to the dragon, scaling its massive wing to find a place on its back. The wight was slung down over one of the hard spines running the length of the dragons back to keep it in place while Jorah called out to Jon. Rychon had Renko mount first to help Berterin up, and then Berin. He looked at the dragon. Will he be able to carry all of us..? Not sure if it was a 'he' at all. Then Berin reached down, helping him up as well to settle between the sharp spines and all was mounted. All but Jon.
"Jon! Come on!" he tried as well, but the brave king still fought against the mass. Suddenly something long flew through the air, sinking deep into the chest of one of the dragons, exploding in gusts of fire and smoke and blood, and the creature screamed and wailed in pain, losing air. They watched in horror as it glided lower, and lower, finally slamming into the ice of the lake and silently sinking away into its depths. All seemed quiet. Even the sorrowful cry from the dragon beneath them seemed distant and cavernous. Seemingly suddenly enraged, Jon slammed his blade through two more foes then stood watching the Night King on the hill as he stared back emotionless. One of his companions brought something from behind, another white frozen spear. The intent was murderously clear.
"Jon!" Berin called once more, and he turned back.
"Go! Go, now! Leave!" he screamed at them, running back as his blade tore through more monsters. But another three grappled him, throwing him to the ice and through it, and he vanished from their sight. The woman stared at the hole in the ice for a moment, perhaps hoping that he might reappear from the water, but he did not. Then she looked back, taking note of the White Walker on the hill, preparing to kill another of her dragons, then turned and grabbed onto the spines. The dragon lurched forward unsteadily, whether from the weight on his back or the slippery ice was hard to say. Its wings spread and flailed, sending many creatures down in a savage gust and the air beneath took it into the sky slowly, but still higher he climbed. A shaft whistled past as he banked, and his many riders had to clutch at spine and scale for a grip as not to slide off. But he abrupt surge had Ser Jorah slip from the smooth scales, but a hand grabbed onto him and held as he dangled from the dragon's side; but higher and higher the creature climbed. They glanced back to the lake they left, watching as the black mass swarmed it from all sides, they could not have hoped to stand against that for long. Rychon released a sad breath, Hilfert had done him a service, and gave his life for it. For that he will remember him, and honour him yet again as a protector of their family. But Jon... We just have to make it back to Eastwatch. Then I'll go back for him... I have to go back for him... They flew over flats and hills and rocky outcrops, and suddenly Rychon smiled. We're riding a dragon... had he really just realized that now? Stuck on that hill and through all of the chaos, he hadn't thought of much. But one thing was so clear in his mind, so vividly splendid all of this time... dark hair and green eyes, and a soft sweet smile. They landed on the Wall where they dismounted, carrying the sick and wounded inside. Rychon made for the lower gate, but despite his insistence he was not allowed to leave again; and certainly not alone. The maester tended to all of them, giving his aids and medicines; and they waited as the sky grew slowly darker while the dragons circled above, calling for their sibling. Tormund, Ser Clegane and lord Berric took the wight from the Wall, to prepare it for transport to the city in the south. With naught else to do and Berin staying by his son's side, Rychon joined the white haired woman and ser Jorah atop the wall, watching the fields beyond.
"It's time to go, your grace." ser Jorah urged, but she remained staring out over the snow.
"A bit longer." she refused, hoping to see a shadow appear from the trees. But, there was nothing. They waited, and waited as the dragon cried above, and still there was nothing. Then she turned to make her way down, and a horn sounded in the distance. Rychon stepped forward, and a horse emerged from the trees.
"There." He smiled, it was him. The King in the North, had somehow survived. They rushed down to where the gate was opened and they collected him, half frozen and near to death from the horse's back. Wanting to leave the Wall with all haste, he was brought to a cabin on the barge where they stripped the iced up furs from his body, and covered him with thick clean furs and wools to warm him while the ship now carried them across the water. They did their best to comfort him, but the ragged breaths and shuddering muscles were all too clear. Then Rychon looked up.
"I'll sit with him for a while." He offered, and the others nodded. The air about him was noticeably warmer, and if the room was closed and he removed much of his own furs to let his skin breathe, the space would grow warm quickly.
"Al right. If you need anythin' just holler." Davos told, and then looked at the others.
"Let's go, we still have some to do." he urged, and the men left the chamber closing the door behind them. Rychon removed the furs and leathers, until he was covered in only his boots, breeches and tunic, laying them on the small bed for extra warmth and then took a seat on a little berth in the corner next to the bed, and finally breathed easier. The danger was done and they were moving away from it, and for a few days they would be able to settle. With yet another good cleaning by boiled wine, and bound with herb paste and linen, the cuts to his arm would heal although the maester mentioned that the skin might leave darker scars than normal because of the corruption that was left behind. The wight was crammed into a box in the hull of the ship, Berin and his son shared a tiny little cabin on the port stern of the ship where the lordling was made to rest under yet another series of pelts and furs and wools, and the three potions the maester gave at the castle brought relief but his body would have to battle the illness and restore itself for the better part. He was given spiced wine, warmed almost to boiling point; a mixture of herbs and milk and honey, and some strange dark syrup that made him think of molasses. But it helped, so he didn't complain. He might pay them a visit again later, but Jon had the worst of it right now. A sharp frigid breath every once in a while gave testament that he was still alive, and it was a while before he settled down, and the world had already started to turn dark when he suddenly realized that he felt hungry. It might have been a day since he last had anything. But as that same thought went through his head, and as if sent by the gods, the door swung open and Gendry stepped inside, holding a plate in his left hand and a clay cup in his right. He seemed confused for a moment as he stared at Rychon, so lightly clothed. And then looked around the room, but not finding what he was looking for he moved inside and shut the door before coming over with the items and set it down on the table. The plate held a heel of bread and a small wedge of hard cheese, and the cup was half filled with a dark liquid. Perhaps ale.
"You should eat something, you've been here more than half the day." he offered, and then looked around again.
"Thank you." Rychon took the bread and broke it apart in his hands as Gendry sat down.
"I suppose it was the sunlight..." he breathed, and Rychon laughed.
"It helps, but the windows aren't big enough to let that much sun in." he said, glancing at the small diamond windows as he brought the bread to his mouth. It was light at best. Then Gendry looked at Jon.
"How is he? Has he woken yet?" he asked, and Rychon glanced at the king as well.
"Not yet, but he's out of danger. Let him rest." he told, and Gendry looked around again before returning his attention to Rychon.
"What are you looking for?" Rychon asked him curiously, suspecting he knew the answer to that.
"I don't know. A brazier? A fireplace? It's a lot warmer here than anywhere else on the ship." he said, and Rychon laughed as he held out his arm; but Gendry stared at him puzzled.
"Go on." Rychon urged with a smile, and slowly Gendry brought his hand up letting the fingers rest on the skin, and then the dark blue eyes met his, completely awestruck.
"It... It's you? You're making this heat?" Rychon lightly laughed again.
"It runs in my family." he told, and Gendry sat back seeming satisfied that his mystification was at last solved, and Rychon continued on his small supper while they shared soft conversation. It seems that Rychon had missed much while he was sitting here. The woman with the white hair was called Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons, and rightful queen of the kingdoms. She had elected to travel with them for a few days to treat the meeting in King's Landing and what they would need to discuss there, while her dragons flew ahead.
"Oh, yes. Your brother is up." Gendry suddenly mentioned with a smile, and Rychon breathed out.
"Good, that is a great relief. But, he's not my brother." he told, and Gendry nodded.
"Oh, I honestly thought you were related." Rychon looked away, at the darkening sky outside.
"We are, indirectly. His uncle is married to my aunt. But, we grew up together just like our fathers did." he explained, thinking back to the many fond memories with all of them. They spoke of their childhood for a little while, Gendry had been a blacksmith's apprentice since he could remember, that might have been why he was best at swinging a hammer, both on and off the field. Rychon finished his ale, and then saw the youngster opposite from him gently tug at his tunic.
"You might go and get some rest yourself." then he looked at Jon with a teasing laugh.
"He's like to cook if it gets any warmer in here." Rychon had to share his laugh. In the still air he didn't take note of how warm it had become, and others would notice it far more easily than he would.
"Al right." he stood and left the room, stepping through the door the colder air struck him like a wave of cool bliss, and he breathed it in eagerly. He decided then, that he would spend some time on the ship's bow to take in the air, and made his way down the passage. But before escaping the confines, someone blocked his way and he was met by the silver haired woman. She seemed to have been crying a while ago, and he felt for her.
"I am sorry for your loss, your grace." he said, and she managed to smile.
"Thank you." she looked up at him, regarding his burning eyes closely.
"How is he?" she asked, and he glanced back.
"Still sleeping, but the worst has passed. He should wake before too long." he assured, and she sighed, appearing to be relieved at that.
"What you did was very brave. All of you." she breathed, but he'd wager that what she did was even more courageous, daring to come after them.
"It was no less than what we set out to do, albeit with much difficulties." he replied, and she nodded before examining him again.
"And you are?" Oh, yes. They'd not had an opportunity for formal introductions.
"Rychon, your grace. Of house Taugere." he told, and then noticed her eyes. They were the most distinct feature about her. What he thought was a light blue, was in fact a soft violet. Perhaps a tribute may lighten her heart slightly.
"Your eyes are lovely, your grace. My father's great grandmother may have had eyes like yours. She was a Targaryen, too." he praised, although he might have ruled out that last part as she stared at him.
"Your father's grandmother?" to his relief, she sounded curious.
"Princess Daella Targaryen, daughter of king Maekar, your grace." she laughed as she glanced away, pausing for a moment.
"I remember... My brother once told me that she was a stupid, weak girl. That she married a fierce and bloodthirsty knight called the White Phoenix who beat and disgraced and ruined her. And that I would be exactly like her..." she told, but he smiled.
"I cannot tell where he found that information, but the chronicles of our house tells it very much differently. Neither can I claim to have known your brother, but I trust the words of our maester more." she looked back at him, seeing him smile.
"The White Phoenix was fierce, there is no doubt of that. But by no means 'bloodthirsty', unless threatened. We know that lord Vaeghun loved his wife and family dearly, that he treasured all of them to the end of his days." then she sniggered.
"Your grandfather fought against my father, but your great grandfather married my great aunt. Strange world, isn't it?" she teased, and he nodded. If it was put that way, it would make them kin. But he thought, it was a small wonder that his own family was not known for a degree of madness like the Targaryens, but for a much different reason. The Phoenix core claimed its toll on their men in the end, after all...
"We both have the blood of fire in us, but there are unique differences. Your are a Targaryen, the dragon. I am a Taugere, the phoenix. Maybe together, we may bring more than blood and fire, resilience and strength to our foes." she stared at him, was he even saying the right thing to a queen? But he smiled.
"But to the world, we may bring hope, and light, and warmth." he concluded, and again she smiled truly. She had a lovely smile, as well.
"What an interesting man you are, Rychon of house Taugere." she breathed, and he bowed his head.
"Good night, your grace. May you sleep well, tonight." he greeted, and then left into the outside world where he stood on the wood of the ship's bow looking up at the stars, thinking of home. It won't be that much longer any more, the hardest part was done. And he prayed that the days would be short and unexceptional, deciding that he'd had enough exceedingly memorable days in the past week to last him his life. What were they doing inside the warm walls of the burning mountain? Was she thinking of him, as well..?
Milla sat at the table in the southern hall, staring at the bowl before her. They were served sweet roasted grains with fruit and thick cream with honey this morning, as delightful as always. But there was a sombre air about them, yet once more. Bella had started to spend time with Devan again, like she once did. And near a week past she sought her out well past midnight, heedful of sudden cramping to her stomach. So, as any mindful mother would, she had her daughter stay with her in her own chambers until morning, intent on visiting the maester should it worsen. But with the dawn, the glistening petals of her bloom came, and strangely she wept for a while, but of relief or despondency she would not say. Nigh on a month and a half later than it should have. There was no reason to fear her husband's reaction any further, and her daughter will not be sent away. Perhaps by fault of the circumstances, she merely passed over a moon... In all truth, she could not say if she was happy or downcast herself; while already imagining what the little one may have looked like. He would have had his father's magnificent eyes, of course. And dark hair, like they both did. She glanced up towards the end of the high table where the girls had gathered, dressed in warm velvets of rose, apricot, lilac and lime. They were talking and Bella was smiling while they enjoyed their morning meal, it seems that the fear and confusion had left her, and for her she hoped as much was true. Then she turned her attention to the lady in ocean blue beside her, sampling her tea in small tastes while her Battle Master sat on her right side, as had been his place for years. She may have been only disappointed of the outcome, but would not say so. When she told her that there was no need to make arrangements for Bella, she smiled and said that it was good. But the light had left her eyes. There will be others, dear Claira... she had thought at the time, and again the same thought passed her now. Then she looked back at the dish in front of her, still unfinished. But her appetite had been sated long ago, perhaps the serving was a bit excessive. She missed her husband, and both her sweet boys. Brave boys of fifteen and fourteen now, she was remiss to admit. Young men whom would soon start their lives on their own, wherever their whims took them, just as lord Rychon was shortly to start his. Messages had been received from the vassals of the Goldfields that preparations were started, and they would begin their journeys to Mount Ardor as soon as summoned. The succession was another event they could look forward to, though. Then she sat back with her own cup in her hands, waiting and listening to the clamouring of the hall. People spoke of all kinds of things, from which shade of apples the noble steeds preferred to the feats of high-born paladins. All was shared amongst them. A remaining question, although not put forth so brazenly, was when the successor would wed and sire an heir of his own, while short messages from the ladies whom vied for his affection continued to arrive every so often. If not for a rough chance of fate, the latter may have been sooner than expected. But there was another matter that Claira had been reluctant to address...
"You still haven't sent supplies to Winterfell..." she breathed, and Claira lowered the cup in her hands.
"We have our own people to consider, Milla. If I send resources to the North, there might not be enough to see us through the winter." she told, shunning the thoughts. A raven from Winterfell arrived some weeks ago, with a message requesting provisions of food and raw materials to be delivered there to prop up their own; and she wondered if that was the fault of a poor harvest or delayed preparations with all the chaos they'd been showered with.
"You're going to refuse them?" Milla asked, and Claira sighed.
"I might discuss it with my son when he comes back, before making a final decision..." she said. The hall was finally cleared and they made their way back to the lord's garden as was their routine before inspections and court matters would start, praying to the old ones for comfort, for a brief winter, for short days and shorter nights, and for their safety and favour over their loves. While the youngsters continued their lessons, the guard routines were revised, the armoury was deemed sufficient, and the smith sanctioned supplies of iron, steel, coal and oil from the village. Supplies were taken in for the kennels and the stables. Taxes were received. Meat, press, meads, wines and produce stored for the castle kitchens. Herbs and plants and liquids sent to the maester for his many medicines. Court matters were brought, discussed, disputed and settled. And with noon, a bell tolled in the west-side sentry tower, bringing the lady and her company to receive the visitor. He rode through the gate on a mud brown mule, bags slung over his mount's flanks; and he was dressed in pebble black robes, a chain around his neck. Claira regarded the youth as he dismounted and handed his mule to the stables for care, then he turned and came their way. He was once a skinny lad, but he had become fairly robust. Life in Oldtown seemed to have done him good. He smiled as he made his way up the steps, his dark hair cut short and his light eyes as keen as ever.
"Good day, lady Claira." he greeted heartily, and she returned his smile. Finally, he was home, too.
"Good day, Gerry. Welcome home." she received him.
"It is maester Gerdwyle now, if it please milady." he replied politely, and she paused for a moment. She'd not thought that his name was that much longer. For all his years in the castle, he had simply been known as "Gerry". But she laughed pleasantly.
"Well then, Gerdwyle it is." she agreed, and ushered him inside, where he finally displayed his chain with pride. Among the many links that adorned his neck was Black Iron, Yellow Gold, Bronze, Iron, Steel, Lead and Electrum, and no less than five Silver rings. He was as dedicated as his master, and just as kind. He would be given his own space in the maester's tower, and continue to assist their healer in anything he needed, and as much as he still could continue to learn from his vast and rich knowledge. Their elder had started to grow tired and afflictive, yet all of this time kept his clear mind. In his nineties, an age that only an exclusive few had the gods blessing to reach; it seemed that he may live forever... The day passed then much as any other as the new maester settled in and returned to his routines. Maester Adlyn was delighted at the boy's return as well, and greeted him wholeheartedly, and it was like he never left. He shared their tables for supper, expressing his venture to Oldtown, the gracious hospitality he'd received at Hightower under care of lady Mae and her lord husband Cladus Hightower with their family. The illustrious Citadel with its great library and many studies, and the arch maesters with their many wisdoms. After the hall was cleared, all returned to their apartments for the night, but Claira made her way to the crown of their own tower, high as the sun where she watched the dark of the world, little sparkles of light scattered over the landscape. Falgon stood behind her, sharing her view of the night. The wind was cold, but she neither felt nor cared for the chill.
"Falgon..." he took a single step forward, the mail protecting his body softly ringing as the links brushed one another. He still looked exactly the same, only his heavy brown cloak over his shoulders for protection against the new winter.
"Your grace?" she continued to watch the fields, their lands that glittered like gold.
"Should I be worried..." she glanced back.
"About Rychon, and the others?" she asked, and he softly smiled.
"No, your grace. I should not think so. They are all exemplary men." he assured, and she looked down at her hands.
"He promised me he would come back to me... As did his father." she remembered, their promises were the same. But, her husband has not yet returned, and perhaps her son would not, either.
"And he will keep his promise, your grace." he told her, with no trace of doubt. Their lords were known for their promises, good and bad alike. Had it not been for the jealous impulses of fate, her husband would have been returned to her side long ago. Then she turned back to the night, and rested her arms on the edge of the stones, watching and waiting, hoping and praying... and remembering. The dream she had, that most vivid of visions like no other has ever been since. How she ached to have that again, even if it was simply a dream.
"Even in the dream, my husband promised me... He promised to be with me..." she breathed, but for a while there was only silence from him. When she dared to glance back, he still retained his gentle smile, but he was looking away from her, his sight far off in the distance.
"And he his, I think. Perhaps not bodily, but his thoughts are with you. His heart." he replied, but he sounded sad. She turned back towards him, watching him stare into the night.
"You never speak of the woman you once loved." she noted softly, although this might have been the wrong time to find herself curious about it. He never spoke extensively of anyone from his past. He'd mentioned his father, his mother, his brothers and sisters and small things they did... but of her there was almost nothing. Then his eyes met hers.
"And likely, I never will. She's gone." he told, and a sourness spread in her stomach. She must never have asked him.
"Falgon, I-" she started, wanting to apologise.
"She's dead. I saw her die." A wave of cold struck her, leaving her breathless and a sting to her eyes. I shouldn't have asked him... I shouldn't have... But then she felt a hand on her shoulder, strong and comforting.
"But you. You still have hope." she looked up and saw him smile, his eyes light in the fire.
"And while it may be something easily lost, it will never be broken. They will come home." she nodded, finding herself renewed, and grateful. He'd used his own hurt, to soothe hers. He knew that she was taken from this world, and accepted that she could never be returned. But for herself, there was no proof. And as the septon had graced her, as long as she believed he was alive, unharmed and coming home, it did indeed feel like a truth that gave her courage and she would believe still, for all of them. And her dear knight... He was always like this. Like he didn't care about himself.
"I have always found you a rather stoic person..." then she looked up at him.
"I wish I could be like you." she said, severely envious of his strength. Of his resilience. But he shook his head as his hand came away from her.
"No, you don't want to be like me. Everything I've faced, everything I've endured, all that has brought me to this... I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Much less you." he glanced down for a moment.
"You don't just... become this." he breathed, All of this time I have only fought... it is all that is left of me... But for you, I will keep fighting... then he felt arms around him, and she stood against him.
"I'm sorry. I don't want you to hurt any more." she whispered, and his hands rested on her back.
"I don't. It hasn't bothered me for a long time." he told, and a sudden wind swept over them, colder than what came before, and almost unconsciously his arms constricted, to shield her. But other than that, he could not move as he stood holding her against his chest, taking in her sweet smell and the clear memory. He remembered it so distinctly, so perfectly, so maddeningly often when he knew to discard all thought of it... But couldn't. How beguiling this sinful wish... Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever speak to him? Would she so much as look at him again, if she knew? Then he slowly released her.
"Come, your grace. You must try to rest." he urged, and tenderly guided her back to the safety of the lord's wing where she entered. She glanced back at him, a sudden welcome sleepiness over her.
"Good night, my Falgon." she greeted, and he bowed to her.
"Sleep well, my queen." he waited while she closed the door, but stood a while before returning to his own place for the night. But instead of taking up another book, to which there might be no real point as he'd read everything in the castle, including the rather extensive tomes, his mind vanished into the fire of the hearth in the guard's hall where he'd held vigil since joining this house. His thoughts wandered and floated and remained, all in the remembrance.
In the distance over the Blackwater the Red Keep came into view, looming high over the city from Aegon's High Hill, the highest peak of King's Landing as it had been known since the Conquest, the waters littered with the hulks of the Iron Fleet at anchor. Berterin had recovered completely to everyone's relief, and the wounds to Rychon's arm were now dark lashes across his skin. On their way down from Eastwatch, they had docked at Dragonstone and lingered there for no more than a day to take on provisions and exchange members. This is where the dragon queen left them, and her hand joined their company among others. More soldiers joined them, almond eyed easterners clothed in horsehair garbs with long black hair and strange curved swords. One was a woman called Missandei, a slim, summer skinned maid with a head of rich brown curls. Pleasant, but shy. A stately lord who smelt of lavender with a soft face and equally soft manners named Varys. The queen's hand, known as lord Tyrion was a short man, half Rychon's own height with a bush of platinum hair, a full beard and a scar over his face. He it seems, enjoyed conversations with all whom was on board their vessel, and on a number of occasions spoke with Berin whom he appeared to know as he'd been here before. He could understand why his father declined several invitations to their capital over the years, it reeked and all the more he longed for the clear air of home. This was their first visit to the capital, and he couldn't care if it was his last. Along with his sentinels and his friend they stood on the bow of the ship next to the King in the North, his advisor and lord Tyrion, watching as the city came ever closer. What an unpleasant heap... The only more bearable element here it seems was the climate, that allowed for lighter garments than the King's armour and thick pelted cloak. It was still cool, but they had no need to suffocate under their mail and clothing, at least.
"How many people live here?" Jon asked as he watched the city.
"A million, give or take." Tyrion replied,
"There's more people than the entire North and Corridor combined, crammed into that? Why would anyone want to live that way?" he asked, but the whims of the southerners were a strange thing.
"There's more work in the city." Tyrion explained, casting the king a small glance.
"The brothels are far superior." he added. The stretch was endless as they curved their way into the Blackwater towards the docks to moor while ser Clegane vanished into the hull to see that their prisoner was still in a respectable state, whatever that might have been. But as long as it was still moving and of some use, there wasn't much care. With the ship anchored, they started to unload what they needed and finally stepped onto solid ground again, and Jon approached Rychon.
"You could wait for us close to the docks." he suggested.
"Thank you, but we will join you for the meeting. After that, we'll see." he told, but for an odd reason Jon seemed hesitant.
"Are you sure?" then Rychon smiled.
"The other sects will have their own allies in attendance with them, and so should you." Berterin insisted, and the king sighed.
"We're not intending to make this a display of power, your grace. But it does seem important that we go with you, nonetheless." Berin agreed.
"Very well." they waited as the crate holding the wight was brought from the ship and loaded onto a mule cart for transport, and other necessities were in turn delivered to the ship. Berin took the time to ask the dock master to store their own belongings in one of the stock houses until they returned for them later, paying a silver and three coppers for the space and time.
"So, what are your thoughts on this?" a voice suddenly startled him and he looked down to see lord Tyrion next to him, so he turned to face him.
"My thoughts?" why should he take the time to find that from him. Why would he care? But then the small man smiled.
"Yes, your thoughts. A good ruler must have some thoughts?" he insisted, and Rychon glanced away. My thoughts? I haven't thought of much save for home, recently...
"I did not come here as a sovereign, as my mother still stands in regency of our domain. But seeing that we are in direct alliance with the North, I must represent and meet our interests with the concern of our people first and foremost." he decided before looking back, the small man still smiling at him.
"Interesting." maybe that wasn't what he'd expected, but it was a truth.
"If that threat comes to the North and they fall, the Corridor is next. I would rather face an enemy elsewhere than bringing them to our home." he further added, and while he did not relish the idea of leaving his family to chance, he would rather do that than allowing any harm to come to them. The mule snorted as Sandor tugged at the leash, joining the column and their group started to follow into the city. Tyrion walked with him for a little while.
"You're a lot like your father. Except, you're taller. Your eyes are lighter. And you don't have the scars to your face." the little man said, an Rychon bit back a scoff. If I had a silver for every time...
"I hear that all the time..." he breathed, watching the world around him. His company was close behind him, but even in this foreign place he wasn't as uneasy as he'd thought he might be. Not as much as he was annoyed.
"It's true. I admired him. He was a great man. Brave and beloved." Tyrion continued, and Rychon looked down at him again.
"You know him?" It was unexpected, that people in such widely separated worlds would know each other. His father was not a particularly fond traveller, but visited the holds of their country when he needed to. And he'd never seen this small man come to their court before.
"I knew him briefly, and then there were the stories, of course. He came to King's Landing once, invited to the king's tourney, and took a great champion into his service then. But the last time I saw him was with your own presentation, as it happens. Every house of this world was called to see you. To witness the promise that was kept. And with your dear, sweet mother at his side, he seemed infinite. Like the world could burn, and he would remain standing..." Tyrion told, and Rychon paused. That was the vision everyone remembered of his father. The bright and burning lord whom stood fearless in the face of everything...
"I'm not him, though." he reflected, wondering how he could ever live up to him. How do you become someone as great, as courageous, as worshipped, as self-sacrificing as his father? But then he saw Tyrion looking back at him, still with the same smile, and a confidence in his eyes.
"And you shouldn't be. You're his son, and that is as who you must be known." he told him before continuing on his way as Rychon stared. He resembled his father in every respect, and he'd believed that he was expected to continue that resemblance in all that he did as well. But he was given his own name, his own person, his own identity... He had done things that his father would not have, and perhaps his father did things that he never would. True, he might never be as he was, not be as beloved or revered... but if he could not match the majesty of his father, he would strive to create his own, with honour. Then he smiled as a hand rested on his shoulder and Berterin stood beside him.
"Come on, we're falling behind." he said, and Rychon again moved forward.
"I'm sorry, I was thinking." he pardoned, and Berterin smiled.
"About what?" he asked curiously as Rychon's eyes went up to the sky.
"About home..." he replied, and then looked around at the people of the city as they slowly made their way through the chaotic streets of the city.
"I wonder where our men are lodged?" he wondered, they would have arrived here a couple of weeks ago.
"The first time we came to King's Landing we were meant to stay at The Great Horse, before the king extended an invitation to the Red Keep. But, that tavern was close to the Great Sept of Baelor, and could have been destroyed along with it." Berin mentioned as he tried to bring up more places, but he had no great knowledge of their capital.
"We could ask ser Davos? He's from King's Landing, originally." Renko suggested, and Rychon nodded. That sounded like a good place to start, and so he quickened his pace slightly to catch up to the old knight and called for his attention. The gaunt figure looked back as the youngster reached him.
"How many inns are in the capital?" he asked, and Davos took a moment for thought as they walked, the ruins of the Dragonpit where they were bound visible above the buildings.
"Four, as I know of. There's the Old Inn on Eel Alley, The Great Horse, there's a lavish brothel here somewhere, and then there's The Broken Anvil, up near the god's gate." he told, and glanced at Rychon.
"The god's gate?" near one of the gates to the north would be likely.
"That way. It's the one next to the Lion's Gate, from where the King's Road goes up north." he told, and Rychon nodded. Their soldiers would have travelled down on that road, so it was more than possible that the Broken Anvil would be where they were awaiting them. It seemed like a long walk through the city, but with each step the once grand arena came closer and there were less people on the roads here, pines and shrubs lined the pathway leading to the entrance of the ruin as they continued on, listening to the voices around them. The summer skinned woman looked up a the high walls, crumbling with age.
"Why did they build it?" she asked, and Jorah whom walked at her side glanced up at the structures as well.
"Dragons don't understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn't. Land, livestock, children... Letting them roam free around the city was a problem." he told, and Tyrion shared his own thoughts, how unfortunate the demise of these fascinating creatures was. Balerion the Black Dread was the largest dragon in noted history, and the last of them was barely bigger than a cat. Rychon reflected on how awestruck he was at seeing the enormous creatures in the sky, realizing that the stories were all true. The sigil of house Targaryen was a dragon, not only symbolic of their standing. The sigil of house Taugere, was a phoenix. And while there was certain aspects that made his family unique to others, had they ever in the thousands of years of history, had a phoenix? A particularly lively jester told that the Ardent Kings rode these bright and burning creatures to battle, and when they came to this world. Down the road they were met by another group of soldiers, and the man at their front smiled.
"Welcome, milords." he greeted. He was a tall and slender, almost wolfish figure, with dark hair and sharp features.
"Your friends arrived before you did. I've been sent to escort you all to the meeting." he announced, and they continued to follow the party up the road. Tyrion held back with another young man, and they greeted one another pleasantly before the soldier whom met them beckoned them to follow. Along the path a soldier clad in crimson and leather approached ser Sandor walking on the other side of the mule cart.
"What's in there?" he asked curiously, but the Hound spared him little more than an ireful glance.
"Fuck off..." he snarled at the stranger, and he fell back away from the cart, but moments later another member approached him. A very tall woman, armoured in black with short straw blonde hair and drawing blue eyes. She too attempted to speak with him, yet to her his answers were kinder. Another conversation unfurled further to the front of their column where lord Tyrion walked beside the warrior whom came to collect them. Apparently, he was making an offer that he hoped the man would not refuse, but he did. Although it was meant to be some beneficial exchange, there was a familiarity between them. They had once been friends. Approaching the broken entrance to the Dragonpit the mule cart was halted, and Sandor looked around at the guards surrounding them.
"Anyone touches it, I'll kill you first." he directed at the closest soldier deliberately, and then followed the others as they entered into the wide arena situated on one of the high hills that famed this city. Three shelters were built on the stone deck in the centre of the pit, chairs arranged beneath the shade and the members of the parties took their places where Rychon and his company joined the King in the North and his, while those loyal to the dragon queen settled down opposite from them. Then the same soldier whom met them approached the younger man, both whom had shared words with lord Tyrion. He gently pet his shoulder.
"Come on, Pod. Let's you and me go have a drink, while the fancy folks talk, eh?" he invited, and the youngster glanced at the tall woman who nodded. Then they slipped away through one of the gates. Most of the others looked around uneasily, as if awaiting an attack on them, and Rychon shared their concern. They were surrounded by enemies here, and the promise of safe conduct was little more than words. He glanced at Berin next to him, whom seemed calmer but his green eyes scanned the area just as warily as others. Sandor walked across the deck of stones, joining Tyrion who stood watching the wide entrance to the arena.
"I left this shit city because I didn't want to die in it. Am I gonna die in this shit city?" he asked the short man, whose eyes remained fixed on the great gate.
"You might." he replied, and the Hound scoffed.
"And this is all your idea. Seems every bad idea has some Lannister cunt behind it." he complained, but lord Tyrion smiled softly.
"And some Clegane cunt to help them see it through." he added, and then there was more movement coming down the passage. A tall woman with short rich golden hair and flecked green eyes, dressed entirely in black with a circlet of silver on her brow. The queen of the kingdoms, Cersei Lannister. Numerous guards and other members were in her presence, all clad in black robes, and dark steel armour, save for one in lion adorned raiment. They entered the small circle and took their places on the seats arranged on the small dais facing the gates. Then Sandor approached them where a guard stepped forth, even taller than he was.
"Remember me? Yeah, you do..." he asked as he stared.
"You're even fucking uglier than I am now. What did they do to you?" he asked, but then his voice hardened again suddenly.
"Doesn't matter. That's not how it ends for you, brother. You know who's coming for you. You've always known..." he turned and left down the steps leading to the cells beneath the Dragonpit. There was a moment of silence, and then the tall woman looked at Tyrion.
"Where is she?" she asked irritably, and he drew a breath.
"She'll be here, soon." he advised, but she did not seem convinced.
"Didn't travel with you?" he didn't look her way, but again replied softly.
"No." another stretch of silence followed, stern looks and awkward glances exchanged from one end of the circle to another and moments felt like years. Then a sound drew their attention, high and loud as they looked to the skies. Everyone stood to witness the massive creatures glide down on the wind, and it was a magnificent sight all would be forced to agree. The great beast of coal and crimson landed easily on the fallen stones of the ruin, spreading his wings wide and roaring to display his powerful dominance. Tyrion glanced at the queen who sat motionless, staring at the great dragon. Carefully it clambered down to the grounds, and lowered its shoulder so its rider could dismount. Elegantly she stepped down from his back, and calmly made her way to the circle to assume her place while the dragon leapt into the sky, and glided away. Once she was seated, all else did the same.
"We've been here for some time." the gold haired queen quipped coldly.
"My apologies." the silver haired queen returned, equally chill. Another moment of silence followed, and then lord Tyrion stood from his chair to start the negotiations.
"We are all facing a unique-" he started, and then a voice suddenly silenced him.
"Theon!" he stared at the man half stunned, one robed in black with a hardness to his face, and cynical air about him. An Iron Islander, clearly; and queen Cersei's ally. Berin regarded the youngster he'd addressed on the other side of the circle, another faction of the Iron Islands that had allied themselves with queen Daenerys, and suddenly realised that was where he'd seen him. He rode with Robb in the war when they'd gone south, having disappeared when he went as envoy to his father. And then he'd come to Citrine Arch with Ramsay to alleviate their taxes, looking distinctly more haggard than he did even now. But he never imagined...
"I have your sister. If you don't submit to me here, now." he continued as he stared at Theon, the kracken of Pyke set on his withered armour.
"I'll kill her." he finished purposefully. A short pause followed, and Tyrion glanced away at some of the others, clearly confused.
"I think we ought to begin with larger concerns." he guided the exchange, but the dark islander retained his brashness.
"Then why are you talking? You're the smallest concern here." he continued as he stood and approached him. Having taken standing positions behind the King in the North, Rychon's hand slowly clenched into a fist at his side, had it not been for the condition they needed he would have silenced his arrogance himself. They had no time for this.
"Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?" Tyrion asked as his attention went to Theon.
"His wasn't even good." he mentioned, and Tyrion's recalled the instance.
"He explained it at the end. Never explain, it always ruins it." he remembered.
"We don't even let your kind live in the Iron Islands, you know. We kill you at birth, an act of mercy for the parents." he directed at Tyrion.
"Perhaps you ought to sit down." the knight in lion armour suggested solidly, but the man remained standing.
"Why?" he asked arrogantly, but his farce had gone far enough.
"Sit down, or leave!" queen Cersei ordered as the tall guardsman stepped forward, and he finally retook his place, and Tyrion was allowed to continue.
"We are a group of people, who do not like one another. As this recent demonstration has shown..." he proceeded, and graciously all listened.
"We have suffered at each other's hands. We have lost people we love, at each other's hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face to face." he told, and the queen smirked.
"So instead we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?" she supposed sardonically.
"We all know that would never happen." he acknowledged.
"Then why are we here?" she asked, and then Jon stood to face her as well. He knew more of the situation than any other could explain, and so he tried.
"This isn't about living in harmony. It's just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can't negotiate with, an army that doesn't leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me that a million people live in this city, they're about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead." he told, but the queen smiled sourly.
"I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement." she said, and Rychon drew a breath. She would not believe with words. Jon stepped forward, his eyes hard.
"This is serious. I wouldn't be here, if it weren't." he continued,
"I don't think it's serious at all, I think it's another bad joke." she simply brushed it off.
"If my brother Jaime has informed me correctly, you're asking me for a truce." she said as she looked towards Daenerys, seated to her right side.
"Yes. That's all." she agreed calmly.
"That's all? Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt? All while you solidify and expand your position; hard for me to know which it is, with my armies pulled back. Until you return and march on my capital with four times the men." she turned the situation to her own understanding, suspicious as her mind was.
"Your capital will be safe, until the northern threat is dealt with." queen Daenerys told calmly.
"You have my word." she promised, but still there was no convincing the southern ruler.
"The word of a would be usurper, followed by traitors and a hagseed!" she directed, and Rychon suddenly realized that the green eyes had came to him as she said that, and the heat raced down his arms. A hagseed, is it? His father fought with the Young Wolf who had taken up arms against them, and with king Robert whom was her husband long before that. She was not like to have forgotten that. And there were the ridiculous rumours of his mother being a witch. That she'd had more children, but gave them to some dark entity to retain her beauty and powers.
"My father was loyal to blood, even if it wasn't yours." he replied, and Berin glanced at him. But he saw him smile.
"And hags don't need to be in your face to rip your lungs from your throat. Nor does their kin." he replied, whether she wished to see that as a threat or not was left to her. If her statement had any truth to it, she had much to fear. But if not, well... She might want to amend it. But then Tyrion rose his voice.
"There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years." he ended the discussion, aware that words would get them no farther than it already did. Then he looked up at the queen.
"We have something to show you." he offered, and slowly ser Sandor reappeared with the large crate carried on his back. He set it down on the stones, and carefully removed the bars holding the wood together from the sides before discarding the lid. He peered into the shadow of the box and then took a step back, and sent his foot into the side of the crate knocking it over. The monster fell from it, screaming and snarling and screeching as it stood and ran aiming itself for the queen in black. Her members shied away and panic left the swords unthought of, but as it reached for her squirming in her chair the chain bound around its neck pulled tight and it could not touch her. The Hound jerked on the leash and it tumbled back, still wailing as it found its feet; and then charged at him. He took the longsword from his side, and struck the wight down, the corpse falling to the stones in two pieces, but still it continued to writhe. The queen's hand stood, fascinated by the sight while others stared in utter disbelief, drowned in fear and denial. Sandor struck at the creature again, and the arm landed some feet away the hand still grappling for a hold on something while the wight dragged itself around. The man whom stood, took up the hand examining it in wonder rather than apprehension. Jon moved forward again, taking the hand from him as Ser Davos brought a torch to him, lighting it as he held it in his hand.
"We can destroy them, by burning them." he explained as he touched the flames to the flesh, and the creature wailed in pain.
"And we can destroy them, with dragon glass." he added, taking a dagger from his belt fashioned of gleaming obsidian to display it.
"If we do not win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world." he continued indicating the monster on the ground behind him as the queen stared at it, her eyes white and gleaming with terror. Then he took hold of the wight, bringing it up and driving the dagger deep into its chest, silencing it. But the others still stared, dazed and confused and scared. Finally they believed, and Jon approached the queen once more.
"There is only one war that matters. The great war. And it is here." he told, but it seemed the southerners found themselves at a loss for words.
"I didn't believe it until I saw them. I saw them all." queen Daenerys put forth, and the knight in lion armour looked up.
"How many?" he asked, the tone in his voice less than confident.
"Hundred thousand, at least." she calculated, although they could have been more. Much more. The black mantled islander moved forward to examine the fallen wight,
"Can they swim?" he asked as he studied it, and Jon sighed.
"No." he supposed. They didn't think they could, but swimming might be a waste of energy when you could simply walk along the bottom of a body of water as easily as any other with no risks.
"Good." then the man stood and came back towards the circle.
"I'm taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands." he announced, and queen Cersei shifted uneasily in her seat.
"What are you talking about?" she asked as he came closer.
"I've been around the world. I've seen everything, things you couldn't imagine, and this..." he glanced back at the corpse.
"This is the only thing I have ever seen that terrifies me." he confessed, and then spared a fleeting glance for all those in attendance before approaching the dragon queen, her guardsmen with their spears and swords prepared to defend her.
"I'm going back to my island. You should go back to yours. When winter's over, we'll be the only ones left alive." he advised, and then promptly took his leave from the great Dragonpit.
"He's right to be afraid. And a coward to run. If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we've suffered would have been for nothing. Everything we've lost, would have been for nothing." queen Cersei finally said, her perception to the truth of a death that did not exchange enemies or allies at whims now all too real. Then she looked at Daenerys.
"The Crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy." she agreed, and for that moment their circumstances seemed to improve, and many found optimism. But then her eyes returned to Jon.
"In return the King in the North and the Lords of Flame will extend this truce. They will remain beyond the Neck where they belong. They will not take up arms against the Lannisters, they will not choose sides." she set terms of her own, and Daenerys regarded her carefully.
"Just those of the North? Not me?" she asked, and the green eyes returned to hers.
"I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it, and if you did I would trust you even less than I do now." she denied before looking at Jon and Rychon once more, sure of her intentions.
"I ask it only of Ned Stark and Raeghun Taugere's sons. I know they would be true to their word." she said, expecting them to fully agree to that promise. He looked at the others, an uneasy silence held the circle, and then at Rychon. Being known for your promises was an honourable thing, but it also caused you great risks. Words are wind, they say. But not ours... then he nodded, they would stand at his side whatever he chose. As promised.
"The Corridor's forces have been joined with ours, as we are true to our word. Or... I try to be." he breathed, and then looked at the queen.
"That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to queen Daenerys of house Targaryen." he declared, and there was silence. A hard breath passed in the wind, this may have been unexpected.
"Then there is nothing left to discuss." Cersei said as she stood, the amity gone from her voice.
"The dead will come north first, enjoy dealing with them! We will deal with whatever is left of you." she decided, and then left without another word while her people followed, their footsteps and the brush of their armour the only sound left in the hard silence. Then the tall woman stood, and approached the lion knight.
"Ser Jaime." she called for his attention and followed down towards the entrance to the arena. They shared a short discussion as Rychon watched them, perhaps a heated word or two. Then he glanced away from her, at the queen who had lingered between the stones of the gate before continuing on her way, then he looked back and sighed heavily before again following. Then she came back towards them, but Jon still seemed defeated.
"Thank you for trying, lady Brienne..." but there was less they could hope to try any longer, and Davos stepped closer.
"I wish you hadn't done that..." he breathed, but it was too late to change it. Then Daenerys approached him as well.
"I am grateful for your loyalty. But my dragon died so that we can be here. If it's all for nothing, then he died for nothing." she told him, and again he sighed.
"I know." he replied. His recent reaction may have been unwise, although it was honourable.
"I'm pleased you bent the knee to our queen, I would have advised it, had you asked." lord Tyrion called, and then looked back at him sullenly.
"But have you ever considered learning how to lie, every now and then? Just a bit?" he asked as Jon faced him.
"I'm not going to swear an oath, I can't uphold! Talk about my father if you want, tell me that's the attitude that got him killed. But, when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. And lies, won't help us in this fight!" he answered, and Rychon watched the last of the crimson soldiers leave the arena. He was right. His own mother accepted his words, because his father had been known exactly for that. Some people had no fondness for liars, but a lie could change one's situation dramatically.
"That is indeed a problem. But the more immediate problem, is that we're fucked!" Tyrion exclaimed, to the dismay of all members present. Then Davos looked up.
"Any ideas as to how we might change that state of affairs?" he asked hopefully, and the queen's hand shrugged.
"Only one. Everyone stays here, and I go and talk to my sister." he decided, leaving his queen appalled by the idea.
"I didn't come all this way to have my hand murdered!" she refused as he looked at her.
"I don't want Cersei to murder me, either. I could have stayed in my cell and saved a great deal of trouble." he agreed, but then Jon looked up again.
"I did this. I should go." he proposed, but the little man resisted that idea just as fervently.
"She'll definitely murder you." he promised, and then looked at the others again.
"I go see my sister, alone." he insisted.
"Or we all go home, and we're right back where we started." that was a choice, but not one they would happily fall to. Then he turned and left the ruins of the Dragonpit to go and look for her as the day dragged on. Members ambled around and talked with one another as they waited, just as had been asked. Jon wandered off to one side to inspect the grounds of the arena, somewhere between the dust and rubble he picked up what may once have been a dragon's jaw. Or something similar. Queen Daenerys followed him to where he stood, lost in thought. Then Rychon brought his thoughts back to where they were, as Berin drew a rough map of the Corridor in the sand, already attempting to plan their strategy, or at the very least the first important points of one as he'd indicated their two southernmost castles, Bristlemane Stronghold and Worthwood Hall.
"We can't fight at both sides of the border..." Rychon breathed. If the southern army seized the chance to besiege them while the war was waging to the north, they won't have the men to defend the country.
"If we divide our mass, with a portion defending the south while the greatest mass heads north, then maybe..." Berin started, looking at the lines.
"Dividing our forces might not be an option this time. If five thousand men remain behind, how many can we send north? Ten thousand? Eleven? Either way, we won't have the men." then Berin looked up.
"We might reach an accord with the king to hold our soldiers back to defend our southern border against any possible attacks?" Renko suggested.
"We can't do that, either. We all saw what's coming, and if the North falls, so do we." he argued.
"And if the Corridor falls, so do they." came the reply. They're certainly not making it easy... They faced a threat in every direction, the true argument would be which of them were the greater concern.
"We might not have a great deal of options." Berin cautioned.
"Right now, we don't have any options." Berterin agreed, and then Rychon looked up.
"Well... she said they would deal with 'what's left of us'. Maybe we can hope for something..." if they all died in the war anyway, she'd have the dead to deal with instead of them. Their vassals had already started preparations for a call to arms, but as for the status of that, there was no indication as yet.
"We need more arms, but our soldiers are limited." then he returned his eyes to the others.
"With how things are, we must include everyone capable to the war." the others stared at him, already knowing the course of his thoughts.
"Do you mean..." Renko started, and Rychon sighed.
"Every man, every woman... every capable child above the age of ten. Bows before spears, before swords. Defence must be our first priority." he decided, and Berin nodded.
"It might still not be enough." he breathed.
"Well, fucked as we are, we'll have to work with what we have." Rychon sighed, and then the sound of footsteps drew their attention as lord Tyrion returned to the circle. There was silence, and then more sounds of steel and marching feet echoed through the gateway where the crimson soldiers returned with their queen, and she once more joined them on the stone deck.
"My armies will not stand down. I will not pull them back to the capital." she declared, and a splintering heat cut through his chest.
"I will march them north to fight alongside you in the great war." she suddenly added, and the apprehension changed to shades equal surprise and relief.
"The darkness is coming for us all. We will face it together. And when the great war is over, perhaps you'll remember that I chose to help. With no promises or assurances from any of you." she looked over them all, and a flash of comfort was felt that their southern border will not be subject to assaults. That they could focus their efforts where there was most dire need. Then she smiled.
"I expect not." she sighed, and then turned her attention to her attendants.
"Call our banners. All of them." she ordered, and so it was done. With the sun high in the sky, they left the Dragonpit of King's Landing with renewed hope, if yet that was the only thing they had. Down the path leading back to the heart of the city, Rychon approached Jon a final time.
"Well, this is where we leave you." he decided and the black eyes met his.
"You're not coming with us?" he asked and Rychon smiled.
"I imagine we have much arrangements to meet. The sooner, the better." he insisted as he extended his hand, and Jon took it with the same kind gesture.
"Thank you, my friend." he said, truly grateful.
"The strength of the Corridor is yours, Jon. Call on us whenever you need to, but for now I'm going home." then a hand found his shoulder as the king looked up at him.
"Safe travels to you, lord Taugere." and Rychon nodded.
"And to you, your grace." they parted ways as Rychon turned back to his party.
"Renko, you and Berterin head back to the docks to reclaim what we left behind. We'll meet you at the Lion's Gate." he instructed and they headed away, tailing the members whom just left, and then he noticed the tall woman coming down the path.
"Lady Brienne." she looked up at him, seeming slightly surprised that he knew her name.
"You and your squire are welcome to join our company as far as The Founain." he invited, and for a moment longer she stared at him.
"Thank you." then he looked at Berin, and smiled.
"Let's go find our men." then they continued down the path towards the god's gate where the inn ser Davos mentioned should be found. The youngster called "Pod" who'd left the arena, with the older soldier found them on the path, evidently on his way back to the pit; and with his help they found the inn quite easily. A lofty shamble of a building with a severely withered anvil, covered in rust, nicks, cuts and dents stood next to the doorway. I hope they're here... then they headed inside. It smelt of woodsmoke, old ale and some southern spice, and somewhere in between all this, the odour of a roasting duck. It might have been inviting if he hadn't had such a knot in his gut. They scanned the faces in the tavern, and a moment later recognised one. Then two. Then three. One of them smiled back before standing with a tankard in his hand, a girl's hand sliding from his shoulder.
"Welcome, my lords!" he came over in steps that would resemble the sways of a ship at sea, leaving a noted annoyance to the young lord.
"Get the horses, we're leaving." Rychon ordered, and the soldier stared back silent in shock for a moment. He couldn't care if he was drunk, he'd had enough of this stink.
"My lord, you only just got here-" he tried to persuade, but none would be had.
"And I don't intend to stay. Now, get the horses." there was no resistance.
It was a cool bright day that Claira listened to the song of a warhorn in the distance, and the tower bells gave answer. From her common room they rushed down to the castle doors to meet their visitors... no, their family who had come home at last. She watched joyfully with a warm tingling spreading through her body as a company of seven warriors rode through the gate, her son's Storm at their front. Nothing ever compared to this, to seeing your loved ones returning to you. Rychon dismounted, giving his destrier to the grooms for care as his companions followed. His body ached, and he felt tired while two taverns were the only relief from the hard ground. They rode hard when they could, and fast when they couldn't. But it was bliss to be back, with everyone unharmed. He turned to make his way into the hold, and was met with cool arms around his neck.
"Welcome home." he held her against him, happy and at ease as others also reunited with their families.
"I promised you, didn't I?" he replied playfully, and then his mother released him as she looked up.
"Yes, you did." she agreed, and then laughed.
"Blessed name day to you, my Rychon." he stared at her, stunned for a moment. He hadn't given any thought to that, at all.
"That's today?" he asked unsure, and again she softly laughed.
"In truth, both you and Berterin's name days have passed some weeks ago. But we can celebrate it all the same." she told, and he looked up. Berterin's name day was just a few days before his own, and their families oft celebrated these together. Then she took his hand and started leading him into the shadow of the castle, where the Battle Master and the young ladies waited to greet them.
"You should all take the time to rest, winter roads make for unpleasant travels." Claira suggested, and then looked back at the men who'd rejoined them.
"Thank you. All of you." she said, for their faithful service to her son. Then Rychon looked at Bella, regarding him with a soft smile.
"Welcome home, lord Rychon." she greeted formally, and he returned the smile.
"Thank you, lady Bella." then the soldier at her side moved uncomfortably, and he noted the fingers curled over her hip.
"Pardons, but my lady has business." he quickly excused, and she glanced up at Devan at her side.
"I do?" she seemed confused, but his eyes met hers with an insistent smile.
"Yes, my lady." he urged, and she looked back at Rychon.
"Then... if you'll please excuse me?" she agreed, but whatever business she might have had, seems to have slipped her mind.
"Of course." then he guided her away from them. He sighed watching them go, feeling dull and defeated. That's what's come of my idiocy... and then retreated into the castle along with the others, already sharing their stories. The company returned to their chambers to take their rest as suggested, and Milla accompanied her husband to theirs while Claira returned to her routines for the day. He told her of all that had happened, what they encountered in the North, and what was decided in the South. And that Rychon ultimately saved the life of their son, there in the cold. Her arms circled his waist as she held him.
"Oh, my Berin..." his arms tightened as he glanced out the window, feeling conflicted. Coming back and seeing his daughter reminded him of the hurt, and the anger. But knowing that he might have lost his son had it not been for the heir... it made things difficult.
"I'm still angry, but I'm grateful for what he did." he breathed, unable to weigh the conditions against one another. The future of his daughter, for the life of his son? Was that a fair trade?
"Get some sleep. We'll feast tomorrow, and in a week's time we'll have reason for another celebration." Berin stared at her for a moment as the sudden reality of the succession struck him. She'd told him that Claira planned that, and he was sixteen now.
"A week?" he asked, and she smiled.
"Yes. The vassals have already answered." she confirmed, and he looked away. Perhaps I should talk to her...
"That sounds grand. I'd like to talk with Claira about that, though." he mentioned and she drew back.
"Oh. I'm sure she'd appreciate your opinion." she agreed, and he left the chamber to go find her. He met her in front of the doors leading into their wing, with Falgon in her shadow.
"Lady Claira, would you permit me to speak with you?" he asked, and she smiled.
"Certainly." they made their way to the Hollow where they stepped inside, and Falgon remained at the doorway.
"We'll just be a moment." he assured, and Falgon nodded as he took a position and Berin closed the door, turning to Claira.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, and he smiled.
"It's about the succession." he started, and she regarded him curiously as she brought her hands together.
"Would you advise me otherwise, lord Berin?" she asked calmly, and he took a step forward before looking down at the stones beneath his feet. He'd kept a closer watch on Rychon since what was his name day, and now is own reservations should not matter.
"No, I would not." then his eyes met hers again.
"If the gods used this as a test, then he has proven himself ready. He has shown that he can consider and react to a situation with reason." he told. Should I give you my truth, you might think me soft, but... He has thought like a warrior, like a leader, like a strategist and like a gentleman... He has done splendidly... He smiled then, content with the truth. Given the records they had, he would be the youngest lord to rule the burning mountain since the Conquest of Aegon the Dragon.
"He has his father's boldness... and his mother's tenderness. He will rule well." he told, and saw it so clearly. He happiness on her face, the pride in her beautiful eyes.
"Thank you, for your counsel." she graced and he bowed his head.
"You are most welcome." but, for himself he could make no promises. Only time would heal the wounds that were reopened when his daughter embraced him, but it could not be now. They left the Hollow to meet the rest of the day, and night came shortly after when they supped together. Bella exchanged her seat at the high table to sit at Devan's side, well under her father's sight; so the open seat was zealously claimed by young Beatrice. But it turned out to be a fair evening as night passed. As did a day when black wings darkened the morning sky, followed by lavish feasting, friendly melee's in the outer bailey, music and dancing in the halls of the burning mountain. But as before, Bella's contact with others were restricted to greetings, or fleeting conversations. Berterin again shared his afternoons with Stephanie, and with Bella in her guard's company, Rychon took the time for walks with Beatrice and Samantha, both eager for his approvals. And while he displayed a fondness for his ladies, there was no true affection... As planned, Claira discussed the message received from Winterfell with him, and he insisted that they heed the request. So, reluctantly she ordered that one seventh of their resources be sent North to aid their ally, knowing that if she did not give the order, he would do it himself when he came into rule. A week passed, and gradually preparations were made for the new liege lord's accession while the noble lords of the realm all came to the burning mountain; and one bright day the Hall of Fire was cleaned from floor to wall, and garlands of bright flowers hung with the banners and drapes, all illuminated with the many blazing torches and the light of the great hearth; and their cook worked tirelessly to prepare a worthy feast, and his serfs could often be seen running from the kitchen to the stores and back again with a specifically requested item. Rychon stood watching the world outside, the banners streaming off the high poles, letting his mind wander while his mother helped secure the black cloak of his father to his shoulders with the phoenix pin, moulded from gold and ruby. Then he felt her hand on his chest.
"Are you al right?" she asked softly, and he looked back laying his hand on hers.
"Just a bit ruffled, I'll be fine." he assured, smiling at her. She wore a glorious current red gown, with a gold rose brocade centre piece, lined with gold lace. Strings of garnets and pearls adorned the neckline and a girdle around her slim waist. More black and gold lace lined the wide sleeves, and a circlet of gold and ruby decorated her brow while the Heart of Hope shimmered brightly from her throat. Then her fingers rested against his cheek, cool and soothing.
"Of course you will." she agreed, and then his arms circled her and he just held her for a while, breathing into her beautiful marbled hair.
"Thank you." he whispered, and felt her move slightly against him.
"For what?" he slowly released her.
"For everything." and her arms slid around his neck. It was time for him to take his place, but while there was sorrow, hope would remain. Then she looked up at him with a sad smile.
"Are you ready?" she asked, and he nodded with another deep breath.
"Good." Then the lady's attention went back over her son, how marvellous he was.
"You look well suited." she breathed as she examined him, then he looked down.
"I feel strange..." he confessed, and then her hands gently rested against his face.
"Oh, my boy. We all knew this day would come... but I didn't think it would be so soon." she forced a smile through the waiting tears.
"But you are the son of lord Raeghun Taugere of the burning mountain, line of the Ardent Kings. You are everything, that this world never expected. You'll be al right." she told him, and he embraced her once more softly.
"I will try to be worthy of him." he promised into her shoulder, and felt her arms tighten in a tender moment. Then she pulled back, and took his hand.
"There's one more thing I want to give you." she turned and went to the dresser, taking something small from a box before bringing it to him, and displayed it to him.
"It is called the "Eye of Tier". It was your father's, but he never wore it." she told as he examined the amulet in wonder. A bright stone of clear amber with black streaks running through it barely larger than his thumbnail was shaped into a disc with a small hole in the centre, and secured in a soft leather cord.
"Thank you." she carefully brought the leather over his head to rest on his shoulders, the brilliant gem now hanging from his neck and concealed beneath his tunic.
"To help you see the truth." she smiled, and then glanced at the door.
"Come. We'll be late." she softly urged, and they departed the lord's wing down to the Hall of Fire where all awaited them, and before they would enter their great hall they lingered behind a moment longer, and she took his hand. Why are you shivering? But instead she smiled as she looked up at him, watching him breathe in deeply.
"Don't worry, my love. Everything will be al right, you'll see." she whispered softly, and then he looked down, a gentler easiness in his burning eyes.
"Thank you." she brought her hands to his face, and softly drew him forward to set a soothing kiss on his brow before moving back.
"I should go. We will be waiting for you." she promised, and then left to join those awaiting them. He closed his eyes, claiming another moment in silence to issue a prayer, and then walked forward into the vast space, where every face stared at him. Everyone he knew, and even more that he didn't crammed the great Hall of Fire from the far wall up to the third level, but on he continued to the throne before the great hearth where his family, their sentinels, their maesters, their masters and the septon waited, and he took in all of them. The ladies Beatrice and Samantha dressed in sunset orange silk with pearl detailing, while sweet Stephanie settled for a softer pink velvet with an ivory centre piece; Milla in her green court dress with the gold amulet girdle, and Bella glorious in bright gold and black lace. The sentinels in polished plate with their swords and cloaks. The maesters in their silver grey and pebble black. The Battle Master as he always was in leather, black ringmail, a brown doublet and his heavy cloak with Summit watching from his shoulder. Every colour he'd ever imagined together here... The stout little man with a balding head and deep blue eyes, dressed in ivory silks and gold thread raised his hands to the young lord, with a tender smile; and Rychon took the soft hands of Septon Costane in a kind gesture.
"May the light of the Seven shine on you today and always, my lord." he greeted, and then turned to face the people, again raising his hands to gain their attention, and commenced the ceremony. There were songs and prayers and blessings, and then it was his turn to address his people when he stood on the highest step in front of the throne before them, his eyes gliding over all of them as he took a deep breath.
"I, Rychon of House Taugere, do hereby on this day take up my father's sword. By right of birth and blood I claim and bear his title and authority. By bond of oath and duty, I bear his burden and charge. I swear to uphold the honour of my forebears, and safeguard all who stand under me." he declared loudly, and then turned to see their Battle Master standing beside him, the great sword of his family resting in his hands. He saw Falgon smile, and issue him a discreet nod. Then he turned and carefully allowed his hand to glide around the soft grip of the Valyrian Steel sword, the banded leather conforming to the shape of is hand. It felt good, and he felt powerful, drawing from the strength that came from it. Then with a smooth movement he drew the blade from the sheath, and raised it above him, the light cascading off the shimmering, glittering edge and dance off the walls like the sword was emitting its own soft song into the Hall, smothering the applause and cheers. With Milla and Bella next to her Claira smiled, bringing her fingertips over her mouth. It was the same as it was then, with her dear husband's succession. Even the sword recognised him, it was happy to be in his hand.
"Let all leal lords of the Corridor swear their allegiances anew." the new liege lord added, his voice above all else, and then he lowered the glistening blade and sheathed it again. The first to approach, was lord Darius Foch. The head of their most powerful vassal. Everyone watched as the lord knelt before Rychon, and placed his hands between the hands of the lord with his head bowed.
"To Mount Ardor we pledge the faith of Earndale Palace. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. I swear it by earth and water, by air and fire. I swear it by blood and steel, before the sight of the Seven, the Old beyond count, and every man that bears witness." he vowed, and Rychon smiled.
"Thank you, lord Foch." he graced, and the gentleman came to his feet. Then he turned, and bowed to the ladies before moving away. He was followed by lord Rames of Hurlton Fortress with the same words. And then lord Violet. And lord Haslinger. And lord Seigre. Garrenner, Reubel and De Veaux, and honoured by all lesser lordlings of their country. After all their lords had renewed their vows to the new liege lord, the vassal families came to pay their respect to him as well, all wives, sons and daughters, Ameera Foch glittering among them. Then followed their celebration in Mount Ardor's great southern feast hall, where Rychon now took up his father's seat with his mother on his left side, his family to his sides, and the Battle Master with them as the space was filled with sweet harp and flute songs while they were served rich pumpkin and spinach soups and bread rolls, swan stuffed with bacon, mushrooms and nuts. Roast boar with apple sauce and wild mint. Flamed eel and haddock with lemon sauce along with crab pies. Lard baked potatoes, sweet potatoes, pots of steamed vegetables with cheese strips. Figs and grapes and cherries. Tartlets, cakes, berry pies and heavenly trifles, warm custard, curdled cream, wines and meads and ciders, all while exchanging soft conversation on present betterment and future hope for all. But despite this wonderful occasion, the looming war was all but discarded to thoughts. Their bondsmen returned home with much still to be done, but assured that they will be ready to answer any call as their preparations were well under way, having been started early as ordered. The days turned and turned, everyone had their orders. The most they could do now was wait, but their daily lives continued much as normal given the circumstances, and soon after Claira had his belongings moved to the lord's chamber while she herself claimed the lowest room, a smaller yet comfortable space closest to the lord's hall, stating that the lord's chamber was after all his rightful place now, and after all these many years she'd grown tired of climbing the seven thousand steps each day... There were not as many, but she was granted that relief. Rychon seized all obligations of governance, and as predicted by so many did well in this. Like his father before him he formed an active part in every order as much as he could, but still found himself grateful for the continued support of his mother, their masters and the head of their Order although his temperament had receded. The once bitterness he held for him still clung to his heart with every sight of his daughter, but it would have to pass in time. It was a cool overcast morning that Rychon requested Berin to join him in the Hollow, and he entered the wide council chamber to find the lord seated at the head of the table, and his son in attendance with a smile on his face. He glanced between them curiously.
"You summoned me, my lord?" he asked as Rychon looked up to acknowledge him.
"I did." he agreed before glancing at his friend.
"I would like Berterin to be accepted into the Sentinel Order." he proposed, and Berin stared at him for a moment in a daze.
"My son?" he asked, half in wonder, and Rychon smiled.
"Yes, lord Berin." he agreed, and Berin looked at Berterin, still astonished.
"The Order has only consisted of ten members, for as long as can be recalled. If he joins us, we'll number eleven." he calculated.
"Technically, there are currently only nine sentinels. As ser Falgon has been named the Battle Master he now outranks you, and cannot be considered as a sentinel." Rychon told with a hint of tease, and Berin had to hide a smile. That was true... the benefits of the small details...
"He's just turned fifteen. He... He would be... The youngest sentinel to ever serve." he recalled. Even knighthood was a rare thing at that age. No man save for Falgon served in the castle guard less than a year before being considered for that position. And the thought came that this may be a means by the young lord to appease him for his past sin.
"I realize that the conduct of this does not resemble what it would otherwise customarily be, but please do not see my suggestion as an attempt to gain favour with you. He has more than earned it. He has already saved my life twice." then he looked up at his friend, recalling those moments when a battle raged around them in the fields near Winterfell, and the winds blew cold beyond the Wall. But then another memory surfaced, one from long before.
"No... Three times, if I recall correctly." that was when he told him to run, but he came back with a branch in his hands, striking the attacker and giving him a chance to escape. Then he looked back at Berin as he sat back.
"You are the head of my Order, and your judgement carries great importance. But, if you do not believe he is ready, or have other wishes for him, I will not oppose it." Rychon further added, but for half a heartbeat, the head of the Order was at a loss for words.
"No, I just... this is..." he started, but the words drifted away. It's amazing...
"When the war is done and all is at peace, he will be charged with the most important task. The protection of our lady, your daughter." Rychon indicated, and Berin stared at the floor for yet another long moment before looking at his son.
"Is this what you want, Berterin?" he asked softly, and the youngster smiled happily.
"More than anything." then he turned towards his father.
"You once told me, that you could imagine no higher honour, than being a part of the Order." he reminded him, and it was true. Only the finest they had were accepted; it had been one of their realm's greatest honours for thousands of years. He knew he should be elated, that the dizziness he felt was most likely a rush of glee. That under normal circumstances he would air like a giddy girl receiving her first pony. But, he couldn't. The future of my daughter... for the life of my son..? It wasn't a fair trade. Not at all. And still, he could not let go of that.
"Then... Then I approve." he shrugged, and Rychon nodded.
"The honour will be held with the full moon from this day." he decided, calculating that, that was in less than a fortnight.
"Was there anything else you wished to discuss, my lord?" Berin asked, and Rychon was left shaking his head.
"No. Thank you, lord Berin. You are free to leave." he dismissed, and the sentinel issued a curt bow and then left the Hollow, and Rychon sighed in secret.
"He still despises me..." he breathed, but his friend seemed less offended now than he did back then.
"He'll come around. My father is as stubborn as he is proud." Berterin tried, and Rychon looked up at him.
"I can't change what happened, we can only live with it. What else does he want me to do?" he said as he looked out the window at the world outside.
"I could make a suggestion. But I'm sure it's something you already know." Berterin replied, and Rychon's eyes came back to him; but he could only stare at him, lost and frustrated in his melancholy. I have lost her...
