Hello everyone!
I'm back with a new chapter.
I apologize in advance because it will be very sad...
Thank you so much for all the support this story has received!
Enjoy!
Chapter LX: Stranger
Arya was furious, she was following Daeron and Robb around everywhere shouting her displeasure. "I need to come with you. I can fight better than most of your men!" She kept arguing. Robb had gone out of ideas to get rid of her, he kept giving Daeron quick glances asking for help.
Suddenly, Daeron stopped on his tracks and turned to his cousin. He took her by the shoulders. "Listen Arya, owning a sword and knowing how to use it are two very different things." He sometimes cursed himself for gifting her needle. "We are going to war! Not on a pleasure trip and we don't want you to get hurt or killed, so you are staying in Winterfell."
"But I don't want you," she pointed at them, "to get hurt or killed either, how do I make sure it does not happen if I'm stuck here?" She countered.
"We'll be surrounded by our armies and guards and Daeron has Rhoynax." Robb sighed.
"But I want to fight!" She came back to her main argument. "You're letting Arianne and Aemon come!" She insisted.
"The Queen and Prince are my family, Winterfell is not their home. I cannot just leave them for a year. They will be well protected." Daeron explained while keeping his annoyance in check.
"I trained for it for moons in Bravos!" She added which was new.
Daeron was getting frustrated with her. "Well Arya that's the problem, we don't know what you did in Essos, how can we trust you?"
She glared angrily at them. "You can watch me. Watch me in the next week as I train and then you can decide. I will prove to you I can come." She defied.
Daeron looked at Robb with a sigh. In fact, he did not have time to watch Arya train. He had many other things to do. "I can watch her." Robb offered with a shrug. Daeron nodded his approval, it was not as if he had a choice anyway.
Apparently, both of the Stark sisters had decided to be annoying because once the matter was resolved with Arya, Sansa asked to see him urgently. Well, at least she asked for an audience, which he obviously granted. She was radiant as usual, her hair was tied in a Northern fashion with a braid bun. But her dress had a touch of House Velaryon in it, he realised. The metalwork and high crossed collar made of thick material made it look like the outfit an islander from the Crownsland could wear. It was also bright blue, and the metal was silver. She had already taken the colours of her new House. Lord Aurane had chosen his sigil. A silver boat with a wolf head as its prow on a bright blue field.
"You asked to see me Sansa?" He lifted his head from the paperwork he was currently working on – signing the orders he had given in the last few days and which had been compiled by the maester.
"I did." She looked uneasy. "I was wondering if I could wed Aurane before you all leave." She blurted out.
Daeron set down his quill and as he looked at his cousin, his brows were high. "Sansa we leave in a week. We already had a wedding last week there simply is no time to organize another grand wedding this fast." He told her nicely but firmly.
"I don't want anything grand, and you don't have to organize anything, I can take care of it with Mother." She kept looking at her feet. Daeron guessed there was something she did not tell him.
"Why do you want the wedding to be advanced Sansa?" She now had all his attention.
"My moonblood has stopped…" She whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Now he understood why she kept looking down and avoided his gaze, she was ashamed. He remembered the discussion he had with Sansa when he first discovered her with Aurane. He had promise he would talk to Arianne so that she may give her things… But then, there had been Rickon's poisoning. And after that, Arya's return. And finally, Robb's wedding. In other terms, he had completely forgotten.
"You did not use Moon Tea?" He asked though he already knew the answer. She shook her head negatively. "Alright, so now it's either you marry now or you take the tea and hope for the best."
"I can't take the tea now!" She protested scandalized and holding her belly which had yet to grow.
Daeron sighed. He would not be the type of man who forces Moon Tea down a woman's throat. "Have you had it confirmed?" He asked, she replied with a shake of the head. She had to be too ashamed to seek a Maester's help. "Does Aurane know?" This time, it was a confirmation. Well, at least, there was that. "We will tell the Lords and Ladies that you want a private ceremony with only your family present." He told her. "Robb, Alysanne, your Mother, your siblings and my family. Will that be alright with you?" He asked.
"Thank you, Daeron." She breathed out in relief; A smile was back on her face. Daeron however, felt the headache coming to him. It was a long day.
...
Sansa and Aurane had to be married two days before the departure, to give them at least one full night after their wedding. True to her words, Sansa organized everything with Lady Catelyn though Arianne offered her help as well since she had very little to do in Winterfell anyway.
The morning of the ceremony, Robb asked for Daeron to join him on the gallery above the training yard. "You have to see this, Daeron, I'm seriously tempted to tell her to come." Robb did not have to say who he was talking about for Daeron to guess that it was Arya. "Look!" He pointed to the young girl.
She was using Needle, but not in the way a typical swordsman would. Her resting position especially was strange. She stood straight, with both her hands on the pommel of her sword behind her beck, the blade protruded above the crown of her head. And she had a small smile on her lips. Her opponent was one of Lord Stannis' men, a man seasoned in battle. He lunged forward, attacking her right flank. She swivelled on her left leg and he missed. Her weapon was still behind her back. The man slashed across at her middle. To avoid being hit she bent backwards with a flexibility Daeron had never seen.
Then, she moved on to attack. With one of her hands, she got a light grip on her sword, spun the weapon twice in the air and aimed at the man swiftly. She hit his armoured glove like a whip, and he took away his hand slightly in pain. She jumped and spun and whipped more than she hit or slashed. It should not be said that the warrior in front of her was helpless though. He forced her to parry more than once and with his longsword against the skinny Needle, Arya struggled when that happened. Thankfully, it was only a spar and not a full-on fight to the death, otherwise, Daeron would not have been sure of the issue.
She disarmed him after a dozen more minutes of intense sparring. She managed to get the pointy end of Needle in between his hand and his sword. With the littlest amount of pressure, the sword fell from his hand and Arya had her sword at his neck, forcing him to wield.
"We'll take her with us." Daeron decided and told his cousin. "But she stays out of the meat of the battles. And she has to obey us." He warned. Robb nodded.
Compared to Robb's, Sansa's wedding was smaller, intimate, almost poor looking. Leagues away from what Daeron would have imagined years ago, when Sansa was set to become the little shit's Queen. Even Sansa's dress was simple. They did not have time to order anything extravagant so there was very little embroidery on it. It was still made of fine white wool though, and she wore a broach depicting the sigil of her new House.
The other main difference was that it was much happier. Rickon was feeling a little better. He could stand for a couple of hours now and though he was still a long way from running around, it was an improvement. Lady Catelyn also looked please, Daeron guessed she was happy to see her daughter out of their enemies' claws for good. The King also wondered if she knew of Sansa's condition. Probably not, Sansa would have been too afraid of her mother's reaction. Actually, it was the couple that was happiest, they genuinely cared for each other that much could be seen. Robb and Alysanne, though standing next to each other looking content held no love for one another. Yet.
The feast after the vows was also smaller. A few important Lords and Ladies of the North had been invited but there could not be more than thirty guests in the Great Hall. It was a sweet event, one Daeron as well as Robb and Aurane would need to cherish once they started marching out of Winterfell.
...
Up on the battlements, Daeron was looking at his men preparing in the dawn of days. Orders being shouted, horses being saddled, tents being folded and put away. It calmed his nerves to be looking one last time at the view of the world from the top of Winterfell. He barely heard Lord Stannis when he joined him.
"We ought to get ready now, your Grace." The older lord informed him.
"This is really happening, isn't it?" He did not have cold feet. He knew what he had to do and why, but the enormity of it all weighed on him. He wondered if his conquering ancestor felt the same once.
"Are you afraid?" The Lord of Storm's End asked. Daeron nodded, he was. "Good, the only people who aren't afraid of failure are mad men like your grandfather."
"I need your counsel, Lord Stannis." Daeron declared.
"Whatever you may ask, your Grace, you will always have." He vowed.
"I'm going to ask you a question." Daeron warned. The man lifted a brow. "Do you believe in me?"
"I have become wary of beliefs your Grace. All my life it's been, believe in the Seven, believe in your brother, believe in the Red God, believe in yourself, even. I am afraid life has made me resistant to beliefs." He paused. "And yet here I am. I'm not here because you forced me, even though you easily could have, I'm here because I believe in you, I believe you are the right person for the Seven Kingdoms, I believe what we are doing is just."
Daeron smiled. "Thank you, Lord Stannis." He turned to the man. "I am going to need your counsel even more going forward."
"You have it, now and always." Even if the tone was cold, as it usually was with Stannis, it touched Daeron.
"Good." He retrieved something from inside his doublet. "I had something made for you." He announced revealing the pin. He fastened it on the lord's doublet. "Stannis Baratheon, I name you Hand of the King."
Lord Stannis knelt before him. "I accept the honour your Grace." His voice trembled a little. He got up and glanced at the pin. "Is it Valyrian steel?" He asked curiously, recognising the patterns in the metal.
Daeron shrugged with a smile. "I had to show off a little." He justified.
...
If there was one place in the North that Daeron found the weirdest, it was the Neck. Legend said that during the war between the Children of the Forest and the First Men, the Children broke the piece of land between the North and the South. The sea that had changed place blocked the First Men for a time. Eventually, the water receded, but never completely, creating the swamps of the Neck. It was a beautiful story, but as far as he knew, it was utterly false. If the water of the swamps had come from the sea, it would be salty to begin with, and it was not.
It did not make the Neck a less dangerous place though. Knowing where to walk and where not to walk out there was an art only mastered by the crannogsmen. One wrong step and you could fall into quicksand, poisonous plants or lizard-lions infested waters. The Kingsroad – which there only became a narrow causeway – was the only safe way to travel through the Neck.
It made their march more tedious. The superstitions and rumours the men spread did not help, it frightened them more than anything. Daeron had stopped counting the number of incidents of the likes of the one they were solving right now. A soldier had thrust his spear in his companion's foot and was now pretending he had thought it to be a lizard-lion. Daeron sighed and let Lord Stannis handle the matter as he had done so well with the previous ones.
He lifted his head briefly. On the hedge of the commotion that had formed, he recognized a known face. At first, he thought he was seeing things because of his tiredness. But he blinked a few times and the person was still there. He walked to her, followed by Stannis, Robb and Arya – who was always on their heels even though she remained extremely silent.
"Lady Meera." He acknowledged the young woman who had accompanied Bran beyond the Wall.
"Your Grace." She curtsied surprisingly well, it was not something he had expected coming from a crannogwoman. "My father, Howland Reed would like to offer you and your family the hospitality of Greywater Watch." She declared.
The only thing Daeron knew about Greywater Watch was that it was not near the Kingsroad and impossible to find. He was tempted to accept. Howland Reed was the only living man who had known his mother and who he had never met. Yet, he feared it would put him off schedule even more. "I am touched by your father's consideration, Lady Meera. Unfortunately, we would like to move quickly onto the South and I fear I will have to decline. If your father would extend his invitation to a later date, it would be my pleasure to visit Greywater Watch after the war."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, your Grace." She replied abruptly taking Daeron aback. "My father is gravely ill, I doubt he'll even make it through the week." She announced. "Worry not about your progression. The army can keep moving, the crannogmen will take you back to them afterwards." Daeron looked at his noble companions. A few shrugged, Lord Stannis nodded.
Hence, Daeron, his Queen, his son, his Hand, his Kingsguard and Arya found themselves on a small boat navigating through the swamp. Robb had been left in charge of the army's move forward.
When he saw it, Daeron finally understood why Greywater Watch was impossible to find. It moved, or rather, it floated. The castle was entirely made of wood, with five high towers and seen walls. It was built on a crannog allowing it to drift according to the movements of the swamp. It was not magic as the legend liked to say, it was water.
Meera Reed attached their boat directly to her home, so they could walk right out of it and almost through the door. Inside the castle, they found the same wood everywhere and for everything. There was not a piece of stone or metal other than the men's weapons. Daeron guessed the structure would not float otherwise. The lady led them up the central tower.
They entered a room that smelled… well, like the rest of the Neck, it smelled of intense moisture, but this room also smelled of death. It was rather a feeling than a smell, like the promise that death would come take its toll here very soon.
Lord Howland Reed as Daeron discovered him was a bag of bones. His cheeks were completely hollow. His hair grey and brittle and his eyes milky. His hands were all knuckles as he went to kiss his King and Queen's offered hands since he could not stand and bow – he insisted. He indeed looked like an old man on the death of door.
"Your Grace, I'm so happy to finally meet you." There was a nasty whistle at the back of his voice. "Forgive me if I stare too much, I want to see what the son of my dear friend has become." He detailed Daeron. "Yes, Lyanna would have been proud of you."
"You knew my mother well, my lord?" Daeron asked nicely.
"I did not know her for long." He was interrupted by a salve of cough. Meera helped him drink a clear liquid from a clay bowl. "We met at the Tourney of Harrenhal. My first time out of the Neck." The man seemed lost in memory. "I was very small back then, well I still am." He chuckled, causing more coughs. "And I did not dress in the finery of the typical lords. Three squires started bullying me at the hedge of the camp. Lyanna, she was coming this way, I think she just got out of an argument with King Robert because I remember her looking very angry. She saw the boys beating me. 'Hey, it's my father's bannerman you're harassing here!' she shouted to them. Then, she shooed them away with a stick. A stick, can you imagine? They had swords."
"It sounds like what I heard of her." Daeron replied politely.
"Yes… and she tended to my wounds." He motioned at his daughter for something. Meera got up, looked into a drawer and retrieved an object which she brought to her father. "When she tended to me, she gave me this handkerchief." With a trembling hand, he gave it to Daeron. It had the letters 'L. S.' embroidered on it as well as blue roses. Winter roses. "I never got the chance to give it back. I would want her son to have it." He whined suddenly. "Thank you for doing me this kindness, your Grace. An old man can now die in peace." He declared.
As his state was deteriorating, the nobles left the room and followed the servants to their quarters for the night. "This place is amazing." Daeron heard Arya whisper to herself behind him.
Surely enough, when the army arrived at the Twins, a raven was waiting for Daeron announcing the death of Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch, at the age of forty-three. The new Lady of the Twins looked completely terrified when she gave it to Daeron. Actually, she was terrified of Daeron… and Arya… and Robb… and Stannis, basically everybody in command in Daeron's army.
Daeron reassured her. "As long as House Frey and its new Lord," – a boy of four – "keeps faith with the Crown, you have nothing to fear." The masked threat did not fall into deaf ears. What could they do anyway? They were a house of weak, feeble women and babes now.
...
The strange dreams followed him. Every night he fell asleep, and every night he saw the same green dragon, though the place changed, according to where he was. Every night it got worst too.
This night, he was in the clearing in front of the Twins. A storm was preparing in the sky. He just heard the thunder for now, and there was no rain, but the clouds were dark and menacing. The coloured eggshells and their ashes laid on the grass, around the green dragon.
As was now usual, the dragon whined, and it was too hot to touch and comfort. Its scales were dull and crackled. In the grass, the blood did not sizzle when it fell. It was immediately absorbed by the earth saturated with water. Daeron could not do anything… again.
When the dragon laid down on its paws, snout still bleeding, Daeron knew the worst had yet to come. As it had in the past three nights, the neck of the beast started glowing with an orange tint. It looked like ambers in a fire. It also looked excruciatingly painful. In fact, it quickly became unbearable for the dragon who started to shake his head and roar in pain. Daeron could see him try to breathe fire to defeat this invisible enemy, but he could barely produce any smoke.
Tears were now falling from the dragon's golden eyes. The white of it became bright red as blood vessels gave way under the heat. It was painful even to watch. And the dragon roared and roared, until it could not anymore. It had no energy left. It started whining again. Instead of tears, it was now blood coming from the eyes.
In horror, Daeron watched as the beautiful golden orbs started melting and washing away with the tears leaving only an empty eye socket. The end was near and Daeron wondered if this time it would be it. He had been wondering the same thing for weeks now because he hoped that if the dragon died, then his enigmatic nightmare would stop.
The dragon stopped making any noise. If it did not even have the force to whine, then it would not be long. And suddenly it happened. One last sound, the sound of one last breath that struggled to pass through the mouth and the massive head of the beast fell limp on the ground. It was perfectly still.
Daeron did not dare move. He did not know what to do, other than wake up. But he did not wake up just yet. He had time to observe the corpse. The dragon was not even adult, he realised. It had been a young dragon, not more than a year old, he guessed. What could have caused his death? And why would he dream of the death of a young dragon for weeks on end?
Finally, his wish was granted. He woke up, in the dark in the room he occupied with Arianne at the Twins. "AAAAHHHHH!" He had not been awake more than a few seconds when he heard the scream. He recognized Arianne's voice instantly and by sliding his hand to her side of the bed, he realised that she was not there. But the place was wet.
Guiding himself through the sound of her voice, he rushed to the area they could use to take a bath or change. Arianne had fallen on the floor. She was lit only by a small candle. But the light was enough for Daeron to see the blood tainting her nightdress between her legs. He looked at his hand, the one he had slid on her side of the bed, it was red with blood too.
Ser Richard who had burst into the room at the sound of his Queen's cry looked around in panic. If he was being honest, Daeron was starting to panic too. He did not know what was happening to his wife. And the baby! The baby! A voice kept repeating in his head. He refused to listen to that voice, if he did, he would collapse.
He gathered Arianne in his arms to evacuate her from there. "It's alright my love, we'll go to the Maester." He whispered to her. "Richard! Get the Maester quickly!" He ordered shouting.
He followed his knight in the halls of the Twins, his wife in his arms. By the time he got to the Maester's study, Ser Richard had already brought the young man over. Daeron had not even bothered remembering his name. The learnt man gasped when he saw the Queen. He immediately started examining her.
"Your Grace, I will need you to leave for this procedure." He said with a trembling voice at some point. "Please your Grace." The man pleaded before Daeron could protest. He exited the room with Ser Richard, and more anguish than he had ever felt.
He was cold back two long hours later, as the sun started to rise. The Maester was washing the blood off his tools. Arianne laid on the table, but Daeron could distinctively see her chest rise and fall in rhythm. He breathed a first sigh of relief.
"I am very sorry, your Grace." The Maester had stopped washing his tools. "Queen Arianne has miscarried. She lost the baby." Daeron felt as if someone had just put a very heavy stone in his heart.
He steeled himself. "I understand, Maester. How is my wife?" He wanted to know.
"The Queen's body did not eject the babe completely on its own. There was a complication hence the large amount of blood." The man started to explain. "I treated the problem. She will recover fully and should be completely healthy in a fortnight. Though I would advice extensive rest for the next four days." He announced. Daeron tried to hold on to that piece of information. His wife was alive and would be well. At least, she was alive.
I'm sorry... What did you think though?
I would really like to know what you expect the campaign in the South to be like ;). Please leave a review.
Next chapter: Arianne recovers before the march to Casterly Rock.
Guest reviews:
- I think it is difficult to hate someone you really knew and respected in life. Talisa may be responsible for many deaths (though it could be argued that it was entirely Robb's fault) but Alysanne knew and respected her. On the other hand, she never knew Lyanna and Lyanna can be seen as responsible of many other deaths. I believe the North hates the Targaryens in general.
- (Hitman) Such a shame x). It sounds weird indeed.