Chapter 11

Thirteen days ride from Winterfell to the Trident was an amazing feat, Ned thought as he brushed down the celestial steed. He did not need the grooming, as he would reappear whenever Ned was ready to travel in immaculate condition. But the young knight enjoyed making the offering of service and affection. He had stopped in a clearing still some leagues north of the Crossroads, though he expected to reach the famous landmark on the morrow. The snow-covered peaks of the Mountains of the Moon rose above him in the east.

I wonder if the Valemen will sit the war out this time as well. Despite their lord's death being the apparent starting point for the events that lead to the war, they had stayed locked in their mountain fortress at least until he had died. If the war stayed mostly in the south, they might do the same again. The fewer armies involved the better.

On the ride south, Ned had given a great deal of consideration to his objective and how he might achieve it. He realized he had been pursuing the Mountain since Ned had revived back in Blackhaven two years ago. The giant had been his obsession.

In the greater scheme of the war, Clegane was probably not such a central figure, but Ned had been a boy when The Mountain had led the ambush at Mummer's Ford. He had been the devil that the Old Lion had released to terrorize the vulnerable smallfolk the Brotherhood had worked so desperately to protect. That evening as he prepared a simple meal of meat, bread, and cheese from the supplies he had purchased at the inn the previous night, he prayed. The young lord knew the Seven must have greater tasks for him, but he was thankful that they were allowing him to fulfil this quest he had set himself.

The next morning, his still unnamed steed was ready waiting well before the sun rose over the eastern mountains. Ned was half sleeping while relying on the magnificent animal to select his own path through the pre-dawn light. The sound of steel-shod hooves pounding on the rocky ground almost drowned out the morning song of the birds in the trees. The young lord smiled as the horse seemed to subtly adjust his cadence to add a rhythmic counterpoint to the avian chorus. "Perhaps Morning Song would be an appropriate name? Or Morningstar?"

A cry of battle and the clash of steel sounded in the near distance. Ned barely shifted and the steed moved towards the sounds. Seconds later, they burst into a clearing. Two old men, one so fat he was almost round and the other tall and whipcord thin, both dressed in mail, with their chest and back plates hanging unbuckled as if hastily donned were facing off against six rough looking men in a ragtag mix of fur, leather, and bits of rusty plate. The old men had placed themselves between their attackers and two weedy steeds; sword and shield held defensively. The scene was lit mostly from the embers of a campfire glowing brighter than the pale dawn light.

Ned could barely make out that the battered shields bore faded blazons that, while unrecognized, marked them as knights. As the attackers bore none of the marks of the Brotherhood, Ned was more inclined to assist the outnumbered knights. He reined in his mount and drew his greatsword. "What's all this then?"

"Moon Brothers! Fresh meat and look at all that steel," yelled one of the six, a larger man with long matted brown hair, a rusted mail hauberk, and a spiked battle axe. Two of the brigands turned to approach Ned.

"You would do better to lay down your arms and surrender," the young lord warned the men.

"You'd do better to take your own advice flatlander," the axe man replied. Just then four more ruffians emerged from the underbrush, flanking Ned.

"Run, lad!" shouted the fat knight. "We'll hold them off." He stepped forward, his thin companion in synchronized step. They targeted one of the four men still facing them. The thin knight knocked the brigand's spear offline, and the fat knight disemboweled him. They pivoted and the fat man rushed the next bandit, knocking him off his feet, where the second knight killed him with an economical thrust to the throat.

Ned ripped his attention back to the six men circling him. He was standing still so had no momentum to charge through them. He had never fought on his blessed steed but was only momentarily surprised when the great beast reared up and lashed out with heavy hooves at the two men in the front. Light flashed with every strike.

The young knight grabbed an incoming spear shaft coming from his left and stabbed one-handed with his great sword. Feeling it pierce flesh, he ripped it out and laid about him right and left, slashing two more foes. The horse bucked forward, smashing both rear hooves into another brigand, caving in his chest and with a flash bright in the pre-dawn darkness slammed him into the trunk of a tree.

"Demons of the Deep!" the tall axe man called. "Run!"

The three surviving marauders fled into the forest, moving in separate directions to confound possible pursuit. The fat knight threw his shield at the one closest to him but missed by several yards. "That's right, curs! Run, like the cowards you are."

Ned considered giving pursuit. But, even on his steed, he had little chance of taking them all. Instead, he turned to the older men. "Are you alright?"

"Just annoyed," the fat man answered. He scratched at his shaggy, untrimmed beard with his left hand. He wore no gauntlets. Stepping closer to Ned, he squinted to see him better in the poor light. "I'm Ser Creighton Longbough, and this's my partner Ser Illifer, sometimes slanderously called the Penniless. You have our gratitude for your timely intercession, unnecessary as it was."

Ser Illifer, who appeared older than Ser Creighton, and more worn down, nodded as he began searching the fallen foes.

"How did you come to be in this unfortunate situation?" the Dornish lord inquired as he dismounted. He quickly examined his steed for injury. The horse was docile as the knight lifted each hoof. It was only then that he realized all four horseshoes bore the telltale rippled smoky color of valyrian steel.

"We were hunting them," Ser Illifer replied, his voice raspy.

"But they turned on us. Surprised us in our sleep or would have if I hadn't needed to take a morning piss." The fat knight kicked the nearest corpse. "Good thing we sleep in our mail."

"Who are they?" Ned asked.

"Clansmen from the Mountains of the Moon," Ser Creighton replied. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder towards the looming peaks. "They usually keep on the other side of the mountains for their raids. Something or someone stirred them up and pointed them towards the Riverland side of the border."

"And who are you?" the thin knight asked with a suspicious look. "That's a Dornish sigil, but I can't remember which."

"Well spotted," the young knight smiled. "I'm Ser Ned of Dorne." He decided he did not need to outrank the two elderly hedge knights so greatly. "I was traveling on the Kingsroad when I heard the attack."

"As I said, we appreciate your assistance," Ser Creighton offered. "You're welcome to join us for breakfast, though we might do well to find a place with less trash."

"Do you want that?" Ser Illifer asked, point towards one of the bodies Ned had slain. He had been systematically looting the raiders. They did not have much, and what they had was mostly worthless. The Dornishman shook his head in reply. The older knight turned to his fat companion. "If you can stop thinking with your stomach long enough, we need them for proof, at least their heads, you fat fool."

"Proof?" Ned asked. "Is there some sort of bounty?"

The two hedge knights looked at each other then shrugged.

"Not exactly," Ser Creighton stated. "We've been hired by a small border village called Clearwater to protect them from the clansmen or any other raiders. They like proof we're not just sitting out here on our duffs."

"You mentioned other raiders?" the young lord prompted.

"The clansmen are not the only dangers in the Riverlands these days," the fat knight commented. "The Mad Mountain and his Bloody Mummers have been burning and pillaging. But that's mostly in the heartlands between the God's Eye and the Red Fork. I've heard terrible things. And the people of Clearwater expect us to protect them from that madness. Now, I'm a doughty knight, renowned in song and story. Ser Illifer here is no slouch his own self. But if we were to find ourselves in front of the Mad Mountain, we might as well cut our own throats and save everyone the trouble.

Ned winced, wishing he could have arrived in the region more quickly. Every day Clegane was allowed to rampage cost more lives.

"But these sorts," Ser Creighton gestured to the clansmen. "We can handle them."

"Too many to take, unless we only take the heads." The skeletal knight looked unhappy with that option. "We'd lose a lot of loot."

"That's a mighty fine horse you got there," the fat knight complimented with a gape-toothed grin. "Don't suppose you'd care to help us move these bodies to Clearwater? I can promise you a warm welcome."

Ned looked to the Seven's gift. The horse looked him in the eye and shook his head, stomping a foot to strike sparks on the rocky ground. Ned knew he was no beast of burden for such a distasteful task. Instead, he considered alternatives. Nodding to the steed he approached the saddle where he removed several coils of rope.

"I have an idea." he smiled to the two hedge knights.

They spent some time fashioning a travois out of tree branches, the remains of the hedge knights' tents, and Ned's rope. When they were finished, Ser Creighton turned to where the pale steed had been standing, but he was gone.

"Where'd your damned horse go?" Ser Illifer demanded.

"Morningstar is no draft horse," Ned replied, deciding the more martial name was a better fit for the deadly steed. "I think it'll take both your horses working together to pull this lot."

"Well shit," the thin knight replied.

Clearwater was a small village situated in a glen backed up to a massive cliff. It was surrounded by a wooden palisade that encircled enough area that the local farmers and much of the herds could all shelter with in it at need. There was no keep, much less a castle, and no local lord. Several men in leather jerkins and homespun gambesons met the party at the gate. They were armed with spears, axes, and farm implements.

"We have returned victorious," shouted Ser Creighton, "having slain a band of marauding clansmen who will nevermore threaten your peaceful existence."

Ned winced at the hedge knight's grandstanding. Still the locals seemed to appreciate it and they were soon surrounded by cheering villagers. The young knight noted that several of the local children were taking a macabre interest in the pile of corpses on the travois. He stomped towards them, hand on sword hilt and they scattered. They did not need to see remains of the battle.

Not long after their arrival the local alderman had taken the two hedge knights aside and was in deep discussion. While that was going on Ned considered his next move.

He wanted to find the Brotherhood, if it had formed without Beric's presence. While he was certain he could defeat the Mountain in single combat, he doubted the blackguard would ever honor such a condition. Ned did not want to face all the Mountain's men at the same time as the evil knight himself. So, he needed others to fight alongside him. He could just present himself to Lord Tully and ask to be included in the riverlords' response to the raiders, but he wanted to help his erstwhile brothers in arms if he could. And the best way was for the Brotherhood to be seen as more than bandits was to help end the threat to the Riverlands.

"Ser Ned," Ser Creighton beckoned. "Petyr here wants to have a word in the tavern."

Ned joined the small group going into the ramshackle building that served as the local gathering place. Even in the early afternoon it was dark despite with the shutters on the tiny windows being throw wide. Ned's gleaming steel plate stood out, as did his size and youth. Perhaps it was his obvious wealth and dangerous air that led the others to defer to him.

After a round of surprisingly good cider had been distributed and some welcoming conversation Ned asked the question that had led to his coming to the village in the first place. "Have you heard any tales of a band of people standing up to the Mountain and his depredations? And I don't mean the local lords."

"You're talking about the Red Wizard and his wight?" one man asked uncertainly.

"What have you heard?" Ned prompted.

The locals looked between them, each silently urging the others to speak. Finally, Petyr the alderman answered. "They say there's a band of noble bandits fighting for the smallfolk against the Mummers and other raiders. It's said the man leading them is a wizard with burning sword and he is followed by a half-dead knight in the colors of House Wylde."

"They say he can't be killed!" added another man, fear clashed with excitement in his voice.

"Hush, Jon Thatcher. The Stranger still your gullible tongue," snapped a third local.

"I would hear more." Ned remembered that a Ser Gladden Wylde had ridden with Beric in the former history. He had been killed the ambush at the Mummer's Ford. It is possible he was brought back by Thoros instead of the missing Beric.

"There's not much more I can tell you," Petyr said. "Rumor has these men fighting near the Red Fork or High Heart, even near Stone Henge. But that's all on the other side of the Trident. Too far away to get any real information in the glen. Clearwater's too cut off."

"I see." Ned considered. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must now continue on with my mission."

"Surely you don't have to leave yet?" Ser Creighton objected. "Stay the night. There's sure to be a feast."

"And we still have to divvy the takings," Ser Illifer added reluctantly.

"I leave that to you two," Ned said generously. He and Morningstar had killed the majority, but he had no need of the clansmen's shoddy weapons or armor. "There is still daylight left to travel and I have far to go before I sleep."

With more reluctance the men finally waved him on his way.

After fifteen minutes of walking along the path that followed a stream that originated in the mountain spring the village had been built around, he came around a bend to find his steed waiting patiently, grazing on the sweet grass at the edge of the water. Ned patted his flank and mounted.

As they raced towards the Green Fork, Ned considered what the alderman had told him. Much of the fighting when he was in the Brotherhood had happened in the area the old man had described. From Wendish Town to Stoney Sept to the burning of Stone Henge, it fit with what he had seen in the vision and with his old memories. Given those similarities, there was one place he could start his search with some hope of success – the hollow hill.

The hidden refuge of the Brotherhood without Banners had been north of the River Road and across a secret ford on the Red Fork. Clegane, Lorch, and the Mummers seldom ventured that far north. Ned hoped Harwin would have found it again and Thoros would see its value as Beric had.

It took another full day to reach the hidden cave entrance, as Ned had to cross both the Green and Blue Forks. Morningstar could swim, but even he had to find a place suitable for fording. Then the young lord had to rely on four-year-old memories to navigate. He had changed into his plain brigandine and had a blank shield hung on the saddle. Nothing could hide the quality of his steed, but he had appeared that morning without his livery.

Ned started singing "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" at some volume. He was specifically not trying to sneak up on what he hoped was the hideout of the Brotherhood. Soon enough he noticed that he was being followed on three sides.

Not long afterwards Ned heard another voice singing the same song. He followed it to a small dell where Tom of Sevenstreams was seated on a tree stump crooning loudly, but in tune.

Ned stopped a dozen yards away and waved a greeting. In seconds he was surrounded by archers and spearmen, many of whom had familiar faces. Ned raised his hands carefully. Morningstar stood unmoving.

"Who are you and why are you here?" asked a familiar voice. Ned turned to find Harwin, a Northern armsman Lord Stark has as part of his contingent in the force to stop the Mountain. The guardsman had even taken part in the Hand's tourney, both joust and melee, but had not fared well in either. He had been one of Beric's most trusted lieutenants.

"I know you, Harwin of Winterfell, and you may even remember me from the Hand's tourney."

"Lord Dayne?" he asked uncertainly.

"The very one," Ned agreed. His pale blond hair and almost purple eyes were distinctive, especially on a man his size. He heard several men murmur Giantslayer.

"What are you doing here?" Harwin asked again, pulling his face back into his normal serious mien.

"Oddly enough, I'm looking for you. For all of you, but most particularly for Thoros. I need to speak with him." Ned tried to convey both the seriousness of his request and the peacefulness of his intentions.

Harwin considered for a moment. Lem tried whispering to him, but the Northerner waved him away. Finally, he replied. "Very well, but you'll have to give up your weapons."

"I agree," Ned said. He had no liking for going unarmed, but with his strength and speed, he was never truly without options. He dismounted and hung his daggers, longsword, and greatsword onto his steed's saddle.

"We'll take those," Lem said, striding forward.

"I think not," Ned replied and patted Morningstar's rump lightly. The horse took off and was quickly lost to sight in the greenery.

"Hey!" called out the big man in the yellow cloak. "Why'd you do that?"

"Removing the temptation," Ned replied, not specifying who might be tempted.

Harwin just grunted and motioned for the young lord to follow him.

The woods around the cave's main entrance were just as Ned remembered them. The underhill was extensive and had many exits, making it an ideal place to hole up. Men, women, and little children lived within the cave the last time. Things looked different as Harwin, Tom, and Lem led Ned through numerous tunnels, crannies, and crevices until they reached the largest cavern. The Brotherhood had built a firepit which has stained the ceiling. One section of the weirwood roots piercing the wall seemed to form a stairway leading up to where the Thoros was resting in a tangle of roots.

Ned caught a glimpse of Ser Gladden lying still in the nook. It was obvious the resurrection the red priest had performed on the knight had not been as successful as the several he had done for Beric. That or Ser Gladden had already died more than the seven deaths of Ned's old mentor. A surge of divine distaste shot through the Blessed's body. The Stranger was not pleased to see his will thus perverted. But Ned received no vision so decided to do nothing, at the moment.

"Priest!" barked Harwin. "You have a caller."

Thoros looked down at Ned. The young lord could see the strain in the older man's eyes, so different than when they had last met on the melee field in King's Landing only three months before. The older man was beginning to lose weight and his once shaven pate was growing a crop of grey hair. "Giantslayer! What are you doing here? The Mad Mountain is searching for you."

"And I for him," Ned replied. "I was rather hoping you might be able to help us meet, preferably without his hundred henchmen getting between us."

"Are you mad too?" the red priest demanded walking down the roots as if they were the serpentine steps in the Red Keep. "He wants to kill you. To rip off your head and shit down your neck. If he still had a jaw, he'd want to eat your heart."

"I just want him dead, preferably at my hand." Ned replied.

"Then why are you here?" Thoros demanded. He sounded so tired. "He's in Pinkgarden, or he's out raiding, looking for you."

"Because he has how man madmen riding with him. I need help to hold them off while I deal with the mad dog." Ned waved at the men seated in the cavern watching the argument.

"We're too few to take them on directly," Thoros almost shouted. "There's fifty of us that can really fight if that. Clegane has three hundred, maybe more. Not enough."

"Why are you not working with the Tullys?" Ned asked calmly. In the first history the Trouts were beaten and scattered or tied up defending their castle in Riverrun. They were not an effective force, nor were their banner men, who had sent the cream of their fighting forces to be ground up in the war between the Westermen and the Northerners. The Brotherhood was the only force working to protect the smallfolk.

That was not the case now.

"With Lord Jason taken away by his men after the ambush and Ser Raymun killed, we have no Riverlanders to vouch for us and Lord Edmure chose to consider us just more sellswords turned bandit. He would not meet with us. So, we are doing what the riverlords are not ready or willing to – stopping the reivers where we can and getting the smallfolk out of the way where we can't."

"Would you be willing to work with the riverlords if I can get them to recognize you?" Ned asked. It was the only idea he saw that might stop the Mountain while saving as much of the Brotherhood as possible. This was a different war. If the current reivers could be stopped, the smallfolk should not be in any more danger than normal. The world was never safe. But the local lords would be able to protect their own again.

"Recognize us as what?" Thoros asked quietly. "We're all outlanders here."

"Then you can either be a mission sent by the Hand," Ned suggested. "Or since that Hand is dead as is the King he served, I can ask them to recognize you as my armsmen, at least until the Mountain is brought down. Then your job here will be done. You can go wherever you want."

The red priest scratched at his scraggly beard. That reminded Ned of the vermin that had infested the whole Brotherhood the first time around. Likely this time as well. Living rough was not conducive to good hygiene. Finally, he looked back at Ned and growled, "Oh sit down. Have bread and salt, or whatever we have in its place. There's something to this idea. But I want to talk about it. Open it to the Brotherhood. I'm no king to decide for them."

It took two days of arguing back and forth, talking and planning, before the group agreed. Ned would go to speak with the lords and see what he could convince them of. Many thought the riverlords to stone-headed to agree that the sky was blue or the rivers wet.

"Lord Tully placed Lord Edmure in charge of stopping Clegane and his forces," Harwin explained. "He sent Lord Edmure to gather a force of 300 cavalry at Wayfarer's Rest. Another force of 300 calvary is to be gathered at Acorn Hall. Lord Bracken, Lord Lychester, and Lord Goodbrook, are all to meet Lord Smallwood there. That will give them twice the number of riders and have the Mountain's Men caught between the two forces."

"They're trying to coordinate movements and attacks with a hundred or more miles between them," Lem pointed out. "The Mad Mountain can defeat them in detail or take any of their empty castles while they're gone."

"And if we know about these plans, so does the Mountain." Ser Merrit O'Moontown scoffed.

"What about Lord Blackwood?" Ned asked. "Raventree Hall is almost as close as Stone Henge."

"Lord Tully sent Lord Bryden Blackwood to work with the Whents and Darrys to reinforce the Kingsroad. They've been suffering from Valemen attacks," Thoros replied.

"Yeah, I fell afoul of one of those on the way here," Ned offered. "Mountain clansmen rather than actual Vale knights or armsmen."

"They's worse in their own way," Ser Merrit said. He was a hedge knight from a Vale border town.

"That means Lord Tytos Blackwood is still in Raventree Hall, at least according to our sources," Thoros said. "I think he'd be the closest lord that isn't off playing war. If you want to try this damfool plan, he's your best bet."

"And you aren't going alone," Harwin stated. "I'll go with you. I've been to Riverrun once with Lady Stark. Someone there might recognize me."

"And I'll go too," Ser Merrit said. "I'm a knight. That has to mean something."

"The three of you should be able to run from anything you can't fight on the way there," Thoros concluded. "If you can get Lord Tully to agree, Harwin and Merrit can bring back word while you work with the riverlords."

"It's a fool's errand and you're all like to die," Tom said, raising a leather jack of cider. "But here's to the Seven loving fools."

They all, Ned included, drank to that.

A/N: Character Changes

Level 25 (+22)

Improved Skills

Carousing +1

Conversation +1

Diplomacy +2

Riding +4

Survival +2

Strategy +2