Chapter 46: Prison Break I
Somewhere along Blackwater Rush
Did Stefan have to be so earnest about that whole flogging thing? Sure, it was still very far from Rebekah and the bear traps, but really. Damon grimaced as Stefan hauled the pig inside the tent. "I can't help but think you're enjoying this just a bit too much, brother," he said. His wounds were not healing. He wanted blood. Like, now. "Are you really that mad at me for stealing your girlfriend?"
"Maybe I'm paying you back for all the times you made my life a living hell."
Damon shrugged. The movement pulled at the open wounds and he wished he hadn't done it. "You're a better man than that, Ser Stefan. Out of the two of us, you're the true knight. Stefan Salvatore doesn't need revenge. He's the hero. He's got the hair and everything."
"Most heroes in literature want revenge in some way or another," said Stefan.
He dumped the pig in front of Damon. At first, the older vampire was a little lost as to what he was meant to do with it. Then he realized.
"Pig's blood?" he said. "Do you remember Carrie? That didn't turn out well."
"If you don't want it," Stefan began. Damon glared at him. He needed blood right now and he'd take any blood until he was in a suitable condition to go and hunt down something more to his taste. Tywin Lannister, perhaps. He was feeling vengeful.
Then again, vengeful was not suicidal.
He sank his teeth into the pig's neck and drew in a mouthful of that foul tasting blood. It almost made him choke. Drinking petroleum wouldn't have tasted that much different. Still, he forced himself to keep it down and drank another mouthful. And another.
Stefan dragged the pig away from him. "That's enough," he said. "If you heal too quickly, they'll grow suspicious."
"Come on, Stef! You're doing this on purpose!"
"If you want to heal more quickly, you should probably conserve your energy. And that look never worked on anyone. You know that."
"I just don't get how some people can have that miracle puppy dog look that can get them anything," said Damon. He didn't get how it would get anyone anything. Puppies were…puppies. He supposed they were hilarious in some ways, but they were only puppies and they were selfish creatures just like himself in the end. And he was cuter.
But there was nothing else he could do. If he went outside and ate a guard right now, the game would be up. If he tried to hunt…well, he wouldn't be able to. He needed more of that damn pig, or even just a couple of rats. How far the mighty had fallen.
He must have fallen asleep because he was rudely awakened by someone touching him on the shoulder. His hand snaked out to grab whoever it was.
"Damon," hissed Arya.
He opened one eye. "What are you doing here?"
She rolled her eyes. "How lovely to see you, Arya. I'm so glad you came to see me," she said.
"That doesn't sound the least bit like me and you know it," said Damon.
"I brought you this," she said, holding out a bowl to him. It was full of a thick dark liquid. Blood. He grabbed the bowl and gulped down its contents, not caring that it was a little less than fresh. It was gamier than the pig. Sheep.
"Are you going to be all right?" she asked.
"I will be once I get more blood," he said. All that animal blood tasted foul, but it helped. However, it didn't help enough. He looked at her. In the darkness, her face was pale and her dark eyes were even darker. She kept on looking at his face. The girl was trying to put on a brave expression, but he could smell her fear. "If you really want to help…"
"You're not going to eat me," she hissed.
"I bit your brother and he was fine with it," said Damon. "Well, he was fine, anyway. I'm not sure whether he will be gracious about it if he ever finds out."
Arya hesitated. Damon could practically see her weighing her options. She was like her father in that way; whenever Ned Stark had been thinking about something in depth, it had been very easy to tell.
"Just one sip," said Arya. She bent her head to one side and offered it to him.
"No, not like that," said Damon. That gesture had a sort of intimacy that made even him uncomfortable, considering it was Arya Stark. "Give me your wrist."
He gently pricked her skin with his fangs and opened up the vein to let the blood trickle into his mouth. She flinched but did not pull away. He tried to be as gentle as possible and he stopped after one mouthful. She was so small and young that it was all she could afford to give. He opened up his own wrist. Two droplets oozed out. He couldn't afford to lose any blood, but it would be suspicious if Arya went around wearing fang marks.
"Drink this," he said.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
She watched him with wary eyes, but she did as she was told. It was good to know that she understood the importance of obeying Damon.
"Hey, look!" she whispered as the wounds on her wrist healed, as did his.
"Yeah," said Damon. "Now go away and don't bother me unless you have more blood."
Caroline couldn't help but worry about it, despite Stefan saying that there was no such need. It was Damon. The only thing one could expect of Damon was that he was unpredictable, and he did stupid things, and somehow, his plans didn't always fail because he had some sort of dumb luck that stopped him from getting himself killed. Maybe it was those baby blues. It was very hard to resist those baby blues. She kept thinking about them as she went into the command tent to clean up the remnants of morning tea. Lord Tywin had returned to his work, as if he had never moved. She refilled his cup with water and made to leave with her arms laden with a tray of used crockery.
"What do you think of Damon Salvatore, girl?" asked Tywin suddenly, making her almost drop the tray. Again. This was not a good trend.
"I beg your pardon, my lord?"
"What do you think of Damon Salvatore?" Tywin enunciated each word slowly. This was his way of being nice. Well, perhaps 'nice' was stretching it, because the word probably wasn't in his vocabulary, but he treated her better than he treated anyone else. "You knew him, did you not?"
"I did, my lord," said Caroline. She paused. How did she put it in a way that wasn't a rant? And where would she begin? "He's impulsive, selfish, arrogant, conceited and he's only ever loyal to himself. He's manipulative, and he uses people."
"You do not think highly of him," said Tywin.
"No, I don't, my lord." She hesitated.
"You do not find him to be handsome?" He pierced her with that penetrating stare of his, as if he could see right through into her deepest thoughts. Sometimes she wondered whether he was telepathic. But then he'd know all about her vampirism, wouldn't he?
"Once, a long time ago," she admitted. "But I saw through him eventually, my lord. That is a mistake I will never repeat."
"You do not trust him."
"No. I wouldn't trust him as far as I can throw him, my lord."
"Are there no redeeming qualities about Damon Salvatore, then?"
She paused. "He does love Stefan in his own twisted way. If you really want to know about Damon, my lord, I think Stefan would be the one to ask."
Tywin had one of the pages summon Stefan. The vampire bowed before Tywin. "You sent for me, my lord?" he asked.
"Do you trust your brother?" asked Tywin.
"No, I don't, my lord," said Stefan. "I love my brother, but I will never trust him. He will not be loyal to House Lannister, but I am sure you already know that."
"Yet you sought my approval to allow him to join the ranks of my men."
"Because he can be useful," said Stefan. Tywin leaned back in his seat and said nothing as he waited for Stefan to elaborate. Caroline frowned, not sure of what he could be talking about.
"Damon may still have links to the Starks, and Damon thinks he's cleverer than anyone else," said Stefan. "You could use him to pass on information that might work to your advantage, my lord. And if that fails, my lord, we will still have won over House Stark's most famous bannerman."
Tywin formed his fingers into a tent as he considered this. Finally, he spoke. "You will watch him," he said. "When he is well enough, he will serve with you under Daemon's banner."
Harrenhal
Of course the Lannisters had said no. Robb wouldn't have expected anything less of them. Stannis had sent the messenger to his camp bearing Cersei's reply, written on her behalf by her brother the dwarf. "You are a brave man for daring to return," said Robb to the young Lannister boy, who was probably about his age, but seemed younger because he was so thin after so many months of being a prisoner of war. "What is your name?"
"Alton Lannister, my lord," said the boy. "Ser Alton Lannister."
"See to it that more suitable accommodations for Ser Alton are found," said Robb.
"My lord, I am afraid that would take time," said his new squire, who, while not inefficient, was nowhere near as good as Elijah. "In the meantime, the Kingslayer's cage may be the most comfortable accommodations we have for prisoners."
"Then put him in the Kingslayer's cage until a new one can be built. No doubt Jaime Lannister will appreciate the company," said Robb.
"Thank you, my lord," said Alton. He had to be of such a minor branch of the Lannister family that he had not learned any of the arrogance all of Tywin's children seemed to possess. A cousin of a cousin, perhaps?
"The Lannisters' new terms are just as untenable as our own," remarked Katherine as she read the letter over Robb's shoulder. "Roose Bolton to become the Lord of Winterfell while you go and live out the rest of your days in King's Landing? Stannis to take the black? I think they're learning."
"They learned from the best, after all," said Robb. The terms really were untenable, and Katherine hadn't even read out the worst of them yet.
His wife continued. "Katherine Stark to marry Jaime Lannister in compensation for all offences against House Lannister. Hmmm, Jaime's cute."
"Is that a hint for me to make him not cute?" asked Robb. How could she even say that?! Oh, right. She was baiting him and trying to make him jealous. After having known her for so long –all right, a few months– he was finally beginning to understand her game.
"Are you jealous, my lord husband? You are beyond adorable when you are jealous."
"Why would I be jealous of Jaime Lannister and his gilded cage? And you should stop reading letters that are not meant for your eyes, my lady. It is not what a gentlewoman would do."
"Ah, but I do loathe rules about what I can or cannot do," she said. "Besides, you would have shared it with me eventually, and can I help but see when you lay it so clearly before my eyes?" She kneaded his shoulders as if she were manipulating dough. He had to admit, it felt good. She knew just where the knots were and how to get them out of his muscles. Where did she learn all of this?
"I lay things clearly before you, my lady, but you are still shrouded in mist," he said. He took her right hand, turned it over, and kissed her palm. She stopped kneading his shoulders.
"Do you think I am keeping secrets from you, Robb?"
"I don't know. Usually, I am very good at reading people, but with you, I can tell nothing. I know nothing about you beyond the fact that you have a sister, you were involved with both the Salvatore brothers, you had a child before and she was taken from you, and you were exiled. But I do not know where you come from, who your father was, or even your nameday. Is Katherine even your real name?"
He glanced up at her, not sure what he was looking for. Her expression had grown melancholic. She sat down next to him. "My real name is Katerina," she said. "Of House Petrova, that you know. But I have been Katherine for so long that I probably would not answer if anyone were to call me Katerina. I was born on the fifth night of June in a little village called Global. My house was too insignificant to be even called a proper house, because my father was a glorified yeoman with pretensions of grandeur rather than any proper nobleman. The only way he could get any higher in life was by marrying off his daughters to highborn men."
"I suppose he got what he wanted," said Robb. "His daughter married a king. Or a former king, rather."
"He is no family of mine," said Katherine. "He disowned me for bearing a child out of wedlock. I am no longer his daughter."
He could not imagine how that would be like, not only to lose her honour and any hopes for the future, but to be cast out as well. How had she survived so long on her own with not a friend in the world? How strong had she had to be?
"And Elena? She was exiled too. She didn't…"
"Elena did not have a bastard, no," said Katherine. "But she knew what would happen to her if she stayed, and she didn't want it. She was in love with the Salvatore brothers. She left with them, and somewhere along the way, they were separated. I don't know how. I wasn't there to witness it."
She sounded so lost and forlorn that he regretted asking her. He kissed her hand again. "I shouldn't have asked," he said. "I'm sorry I made you relive that pain."
"You had every right to know who you married," said Katherine.
"Katherine, Katerina, it makes no difference to me," he said. "You are still my wife and I still love you no matter what you call yourself." He kissed her hand again. "Come to bed. It is late."
Was his cage not cramped enough? Now they had to put someone else inside it with him? Dirty golden hair, green eyes; they did say he was a Lannister, didn't they? Elton Lannister? Olton Lannister?
"Ser Jaime," whispered the boy. Well, Jaime hadn't expected the boy to actually address him. Usually people were too frightened to because he was…
Well, Jaime Lannister, of course.
"You probably don't recognize me, but I squired for you. At Willem Frey's wedding."
He'd been to a Frey's wedding? What happened? Had he been particularly bored or drunk that day? Or maybe both? Actually, it would make sense, because he had no recollections of attending any Frey weddings. "What's your name again?" he asked.
"Alton, my lord," said the boy. "Your squire was sick that day at the joust, and when I asked to be your squire, my father was so furious because he was afraid I would embarrass our family in front of the family. I remember how your golden armour gleamed and how the women threw flowers at your feet."
Now that the boy mentioned it, he did remember a tournament where his squire Brian had been so ill from the fish soup he had eaten the night before that he had vomited all over his saddle. The boy hadn't even been able to stand properly, let alone help him put on his armour. Ah, how far had he fallen? Well, not to worry. This cage and these chains were just a temporary setback, and now that he had his eager young cousin here with him, he might just have a chance.
"I remember now," he said. "You were a much better squire than I was at sixteen."
"Is that really true?" said Alton. His entire face lit up as if someone had told him he could be freed within the next hour. Well, he would be free if Jaime's plan went according to plan, at least in spirit.
"I squired for Ser Barristan Selmy when we were fighting against the Kingswood Brotherhood. I was so nervous that I was everywhere that I shouldn't be, more a hindrance than a help, really."
Alton grinned as if Jaime's story and praise were the greatest gifts he could ever receive. Of course, they were, but that was beside the point.
"Those were the days," said Jaime, adding a wistful note into his voice. "Now, look at us. To tell you the truth, I'm not made to be a prisoner. Eddard Stark, I imagine, was the model prisoner until the end. Sadly, good prisoners seem to breed good jailers." And they married better ones although Katherine Stark had been a terrible prisoner, as far as he knew. Harrenhal was the perfect example.
"So…is it impossible to get out then?" whispered the boy even as he tried to put on a brave face to hide his disappointment or despair. If he had wanted to be free, he should never have come back in the first place. Oh well. He preferred it this way. Better Jaime free than Alton.
"Actually," said Jaime slowly. "I have been thinking, now that you're here, this just might work." The boy crept closer, careful not to draw the attention of the pacing Karstark who was guarding them. His back was turned to them, and he was rounding the corner to the other side of the area where the prisoners were kept. It was a very large space full of pens and miserable sods who sat chained to their posts like obedient pigs ready for slaughter. Apparently, wild animals had been sneaking into the Stark camp at night, and at least three men had been killed. People were starting to talk vampires again. Idiots. To compare those northerners to a bag of bricks was to insult the bricks.
"What is it?" asked Alton. His eyes were so wide that there was white all around his irises. There was so much hope in those eyes; it would almost be a pity to snuff it out.
"I just need you to do one thing for me," said Jaime. He leaned in as if sharing a conspiracy with him. "Die."
With that, he slammed his manacled wrists against the side of the boy's head, right on the temple. He felt the skull cave in just a little, but not enough to kill him. He did it again, and again, and again, until the bone cracked and blood was spurting out with each blow.
Alton clawed at the straw-strewn floor of the cage. He spasmed and convulsed, with bloody froth at the corner of his mouth from his smashed nose. His face was unrecognizable from the blood. Jaime had been locked in here for a long time and fed food not even fit for a beast. It did something to a man's aim. Once Alton was perfectly still, he lay back, closed his eyes, and waited.
"What in the seven hells?!" Karstark finally realized that all was not well with his prisoners, and he fumbled at the keys at his belt until he found the right one –it took a while; there were three of them– to open the door of Jaime's cage.
As he bent down over the still body of the boy, Jaime looped his chains around his neck and held. He ignored the way edges of the gold-plated cuffs cut into his wrists and how the roughened insides of the manacles were rubbing his skin away. He could afford to lose a little skin if it meant gaining his freedom. Karstark scrabbled at Jaime's shackles around his neck. His legs kicked as if he were attempting to swim to the surface for air, banging them against the bars of the cage. Northerners were either stupid, or very, very deaf. Either way, that bode well for Jaime.
He held on until Karstark stilled, and then held on for a little longer. Sometimes people pretended to be dead. At other times, they were merely unconscious. It was best not to risk it. When he was finally sure that Karstark was dead, he grabbed the keys, not that he expected to find the keys to his manacles among them. He had seen that particular key hanging from Katherine Stark's neck like a piece of jewellery. Robb Stark had given it to her because she had been the one who had come up with the idea of these confounded golden shackles that were meant to mock him. And yes, he felt very mocked. He was not going to attempt to steal it from Katherine Stark's neck. That woman was dangerous. Rebekah had warned him of it, and Gregor Clegane's fate was further warning.
The night was quiet, with only a few northern guards mingling near the fires. They quietly whispered about their lord's new-found god and the burning of their ancestral gods. Some of them were worried that would call down divine wrath upon them. Jaime could only hope that the gods were good at holding grudges. However, he wasn't counting on it.
No one seemed to notice a man in chains creeping in between the tents, getting ever closer and closer to the edge of the camp. He stuck to the shadows. There was nothing to be afraid of in the dark if it belonged to you. If you were in a bright place, however, then the dark was very scary indeed because you could not see what lurked there.
He made it perhaps one hundred yards away when the warning horn sounded. No matter how still he tried to stay, or how he placed himself flat against the ground and behind a mound of dirt, they still found him. It wasn't easy to hide in shiny golden armour. He tried to run then, but he had been starved and weakened, and his muscles were cramping from the lack of movement over the past few months. He tripped, and they rode him down.
Sharp pain lanced through his side as a booted foot struck him. Blood poured into his eyes from a head wound. It wasn't deep, but head wounds tended to bleed a lot, and he couldn't see anything much after that. They trussed him up with so many chains that he wondered if there was any left for the other prisoners, and then dragged him back to camp behind their horses. If he stumbled, they continued to drag him.
"What is this?" asked a feminine voice. Oh gods. Katherine Stark. He blinked to clear the blood out of his eyes. The woman stood before him like a goddess. What in the world was she wearing? Her dress was unlike any other he had ever seen. It covered everything, but only served to emphasize her sensual qualities despite its conservativeness. The neckline was low enough so that her breasts, pushed up by her corset, were very prominent, and it made her narrow waist even narrower. If she hadn't been his enemy, he probably might have even bothered with her. Actually, even as his enemy, he still thought she was an extremely beautiful woman.
In the same way that those jewel-coloured venomous snakes from Essos and Sosseros were beautiful. He wouldn't touch those with a lance, and he wouldn't touch this one with a lance either.
"Is this how you treat guests, Lord Karstark?" asked Katherine.
"He killed my son! He killed both my sons! I want his head on a spike!" raged the older Karstark.
"We don't always get what we want, my lord," said Katherine, admonishing him as she would a small child. "I am sure you have the hammer and anvil to make many more sons."
Jaime laughed despite himself, but was quickly silenced when someone yanked on the chain attached to his collar, cutting off his breath painfully and abruptly. Stars appeared in his vision.
"That is enough. Dead hostages are no use to anybody."
"I want justice!"
"Justice, of course, will be served, in accordance with Lord Stark's will."
Oh dear. That did not sound like a good thing. But, Robb Stark was a generally reasonable boy, and he knew that he needed Jaime because of his sisters in King's Landing.
Robb Stark was discussing matters of state in his council chambers with his bannermen, namely Roose Bolton. Apart from his wife, he seemed to have one person in his so-called court that was useful.
"I want him dead!" said Karstark. Good tactic. If screaming at Lady Stark did not work, perhaps screaming at Lord Stark would yield better results. Karstark logic. No one said it had to make sense.
"We need him alive, Lord Karstark," said Robb Stark calmly. "He is useful leverage against Tywin Lannister."
"He killed my sons! I want revenge! I want him dead!"
For a moment, Jaime wondered if Stark was going to follow his wife's footsteps and tell Karstark that people did not always get what they wanted.
"Do you think, Lord Karstark, that I do not want him dead as much as you do? He pushed my brother out the window and made him a cripple. His son killed my father."
"That is very unfair. Joffrey and I are not related. Much," said Jaime. Stark ignored him and continued.
"But killing him won't bring your sons back, Lord Karstark. Keeping him alive, on the other hand, could be useful to our cause." He motioned to the guards. "Take him back to his cage, and have another set of shackles made for his legs. Obviously my lord Lannister has a little too much freedom."
Guest: Damon's name appears more times than Robb's. If you take the first twenty chapters as a sample, there is practically no mention of Robb until after Ned is gone. Then again, writing is not math class.
Next chapter: Caroline gets a promotion. Robb's campaign encounters another speed bump. Katherine reaches out to Damon.
