Winterfell chapter. I wish I had done this multi-POV style before, it helps a lot.
43. The Pack
Arya
"A-Are you s-sure there's no danger?" The trembling voice of Alys Karstark betrayed her feelings, her eyes darting to the massive direwolf following them.
Arya's patience was wearing thin. She had answered the same stupid question several times, and in each time she felt a greater urge to hit the woman. It was only through effort and self control that she managed to keep her hands to herself.
"Ghost is a part of Jon." She finally replied with a kind smile. Her training with the Faceless Men had provided her enough skill to control her expressions, so she had little trouble making her face do whatever she wanted, even without feeling the emotion she pretended to show. "If he were here, would you be afraid of him?"
They were walking along the glass garden, the warmest place in Winterfell and a favourite stop for young ladies in search of colourful flowers and off-season fruits and vegetables. Arya didn't care about any of that, but the pregnant lady would often visit and she had vowed to keep the woman safe.
However, now that Arya would soon leave for King's Landing, she had to make sure the woman trusted Ghost enough to allow him to take her place as guardian. Both Sansa and Brienne had assured her they would keep an eye on the lady, but Arya knew they were often too busy with other concerns. The direwolf was her best bet to keep her promise.
Alys stopped walking, her fierce grey eyes turning from Ghost to Arya. "If he were here, I'd slap him."
You and me both, was the first thought on her mind.
After spending some time with the Lady of Karhold, Arya had yet to understand what her brother had seen in her. While there was some steel beneath the surface, the woman was as vapid as Sansa used to be. The only interesting thing about her was her passable skill with a bow, which had grown worse from lack of practice.
"Well, don't slap Ghost." She said instead, trying to lighten the mood. "He wants to protect you, but let's not test his patience."
A weak smile showed itself on the woman's face, before she shook her head and sat down on a nearby bench. "He doesn't want to protect me, just my child." Her hands cradled her belly, the bump impossible to hide now. Craning her head up, there was a question in her look. Isn't that why you're here? She seemed to ask.
"Well, you and your child are one now." Arya decided to sidestep the issue. "Protecting one means protecting the other." She said softly, moving to sit beside her.
"But what happens after?" Alys asked, the familiar fear creeping back to her voice. "Once my baby is born, what happens to me? Will I be cast aside and forgotten, like some broodmare?"
Probably, she thought, but held her tongue again.
"Of course not!" Arya hurried to say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She would say whatever the woman needed to hear. "You'll be part of the family, part of the pack. You are already, even Ghost knows that. And we take care of our own. When your daughter is born, we'll just have one more to protect."
Try as she might, she couldn't picture Jon living with Alys and their child as a big happy family, especially not with Cersei Lannister being part of that family. Alys would be lucky if she lived long enough to give birth, considering how those lions treated bastards with a claim to the throne.
Alys seemed mollified, as tears were streaming down her cheeks to land on her wide open smile. "D-Daughter?" She asked, using an embroidered handkerchief to wipe her face. "You think it's a girl?"
"I know it's a girl." Arya replied with her own smile. At least I don't have to fake this one. "And when she's born, I'll be the best aunt in the whole world." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in. "Way better than Sansa."
Alys laughed out loud, her body shaking with the effort in a very unladylike manner, snorting and sniffling in turn. After it died down, her face brightened.
"Then she's going to be a very lucky girl."
Arya nodded. "Aye. But until then, you'll have to trust Ghost." The great white direwolf reacted to his name and came over, resting his head on her lap. She ruffled his fur a bit, then turned back to Alys. "Jon needs my help, so I have to go south for a while. But Ghost will always be here for you."
Alys nodded back and slowly reached out to pat the wolf's head. "He's so warm." She whispered, resting the hand there. "Does he eat anything special?"
"You don't need to feed him, he can hunt his own meals." Arya would often catch him with fresh blood on his nose in the early hours, which made her add, "Just get used to the smell of blood."
The lady didn't seem very pleased. "I… see." Then she shook her head, a determined look on her face. "Well, it's a small price to pay for protection. Alright, I trust you. Both of you." She finished, smiling down at Ghost. The direwolf licked her face and she giggled.
"See? He only does that to family." Arya encouraged, jumping on the opportunity. "Even Sansa couldn't be mad at him when he ruined her makeup once."
Predictably, Alys laughed harder at that. It hadn't taken her long to realise that the woman loved hearing jibes at Sansa's expense. Arya used that knowledge often, while keeping it as innocent as possible. Sansa was still their queen, and a certain level of respect was expected.
Just not too much.
Sansa
Watching her only sister getting ready to leave Winterfell, Sansa could almost feel the weight of the burden placed on her shoulders growing heavier. Being a queen would never be easy, but having Arya by her side had managed to soften the worst aspects of rulership.
For various and foolish reasons, they had never been close during their early years. It had boggled her young mind to discover just how different two sisters could be. So much so, that she remembered wondering if Arya was also a bastard, hidden by both mother and father. And that thought had made her feel sorry for Jon, since it seemed unfair that they hadn't bothered to hide the truth about him.
The memory made her smile. The wanderings of a young mind seldom make sense.
After Arya returned to Winterfell it was a different matter entirely. Young Sansa had found her sister's… uniqueness to be a problem, but that was a mistake. The world needed people of all sorts, with their own strengths and weaknesses, and it would be foolish to force someone into a role they were never meant to fill.
She was glad Arya had found her own way to develop her natural talents, rather than being forced to become some poor man's lady. And she was even happier that her sister had found her way back home, to give them a chance to mend what she had once considered to be forever broken. It was truly a gift from the gods.
I suppose they can be kind as well as cruel.
"I think that's it." Arya's voice snapped her focus back to what was happening in front of her eyes.
Next to her sister was a brown palfrey, packed and loaded for the trip to White Harbor, where there would be a ship waiting to make the voyage to King's Landing. Lord Manderly had assured her they would waste no time stopping at any other port on the way, so Arya should arrive at her destination in just a few short weeks.
Sansa glanced around. Bran was sitting on his wheeled chair to her left with maester Wolkan right behind him, while Brienne stood guard to her right. Someone's missing.
"Where's Ghost?" She asked, hoping to delay the moment of her sister's departure. "Won't you say goodbye to him?"
Arya gave her a wolfish grin. "Already did, when I left him with Alys." Then her expression became more serious. "She should be safe with him around, but please make an effort to talk to her every once in a while. Maybe invite her over for tea, or lunch, or dinner… Anything, really. She seems desperate for validation."
Sansa nodded, feeling a hint of shame that she hadn't grown closer to Alys. Then again, she had tried, so it wasn't entirely her fault. The lady of Karhold seemed intimidated by her, and wouldn't exchange more than a few words at each encounter. After a few meetings, she grew tired of trying. At least Arya had managed to do what she couldn't.
I suppose it's easier to become friends with a princess than a queen.
"You don't have to be sincere, just don't leave her alone." Arya added, her sharp eyes missing little. "Fake it if you must, but try to make her feel like she's part of the family."
Sansa caught her meaning. "Is that what you do? Is there a specific reason to dislike her?"
"No, it's nothing serious." Arya waved a hand dismissively. "She just reminds me of someone I didn't like. But I know I'll love her kid, so it's no sacrifice to tell her what she wants to hear." She shrugged, a half-hearted smile on her lips.
"Fair enough." Sansa agreed, then turned to maester Wolkan. "How far along is she, can you tell?"
The maester hesitated, probably afraid to give the wrong information. "From my experience of treating other pregnant women, her appearance and symptoms indicate she's four to five months along, Your Grace. Which means she should give birth in just as many months, if all goes well."
Bran made an odd face when the maester spoke. "Is there something you wish to share with us?" She asked her brother.
"No." His gaze was serene again, as if nothing had happened.
"You saw something, didn't you?" Arya rounded on him, her voice filled with worry. "What's going to happen to Alys and the baby? Do I need to stay here?"
Bran levelled her with the same stare. "The future is not as certain as the past. I do not claim foreknowledge of events that have yet to happen."
That doesn't sound right.
"But you have predicted some events." Sansa said, moving a hand to show off the packed horse. "You're the one who told me that Jon needs Arya. That's why she's leaving now. If you hadn't said anything, she would remain here."
Bran's face remained impassive, but his hands seemed to grip the chair a bit tighter. "The choice to send her earlier was yours, Sansa Stark. In the past, every choice has already been made. The ink is dry. The future, however, is still being written by what we choose to do right now."
"But you can clearly see some of it, otherwise you wouldn't have mentioned Jon at all." Arya offered, her eyes intent. She seemed to have an easier time accepting what happened to their brother, probably due to her own experiences. "So whatever you saw regarding Alys is something you simply choose not to say."
The merest hint of a smile graced Bran's lips. "You learn quickly, Arya Stark. Yes, even my choices affect the future, and I believe it would be best to stay silent at this moment. To ease your worry, I can assure you that Alys Karstark will be safe until your return."
Seemingly content, Arya nodded. Then she turned to face Brienne. "Without me here and with Ghost busy, it will be up to you to keep my family safe. Can I trust you?"
"Of course you can." Sansa interjected, feeling offended by the question. "I trust her, and that should be enough for you."
Her sister shook her head, her expression grave. "I can still remember when we first met, and the Hound had some good points then, which are just as valid now." Turning back to face the tall woman, she continued, "You swore to protect my mother and you weren't even close when she died. Now you swear to protect my sister. How can I be sure you won't fail again?"
That's not fair.
Before Sansa could reply, Brienne said, "I know I failed your lady mother. When she needed me most, I was taking Ser Jaime back to the capital. I acted on her orders, but still…" Her eyes lost focus, staring at the distance as if looking for something that wasn't there. After a moment, she blinked and turned to look back at Arya. "I beg your forgiveness for my past mistakes." The woman removed her sword and knelt before the shortest Stark, bowing her blonde head.
Arya seemed uncomfortable with the display. "Uh, you don't need to—"
"Sister." Sansa interrupted, knowing how important this was to her sworn shield. With a meaningful look, she tried to tell her sister how to respond.
"Fine, fine, I forgive you Brienne, just stand up already." Arya said in a hurry, clearly still unsure of how to react. "It's weird having to look down on you." The woman slowly rose back up to her full height, towering over them, her expression a bit lighter. "There, that's better."
Brienne still seemed too serious. "I promised your mother I'd keep her daughters safe. Both of them. I'll remain here with the Queen, but your trip south worries me. Are you sure about going alone?" She asked, her blue eyes showing her concern. "Maybe you could take Podrick with you."
Arya actually laughed out loud, doubling over to clutch her stomach. Sansa was glad the squire wasn't here to watch, as this probably wouldn't do much for his confidence. To his credit, the young man had gotten much better since Brienne started training other people.
Maybe he's helping her, and you always learn more by teaching others.
After she regained her composure, Arya said, "I'll be fine, thank you. I don't need anyone to keep me safe." Her tone seemed to shift between confidence and arrogance, and Sansa couldn't tell which one was dominant.
"Everybody needs somebody, Arya Stark." Bran said, his serene blue eyes a deep pool of knowledge. "It is no shame to admit it, nor does it imply weakness. You shall learn that lesson someday." He paused. "If you are lucky."
Did he see something in her future as well? Sansa was curious, but she knew the Three-eyed Raven would only reveal what he wanted them to hear, making any question a waste of time.
Arya was still smiling, taking the admonishment in stride. "We'll see about that. At any rate, I really should go." Turning to Sansa, she bowed slightly, "My Queen—"
"Why do you keep calling me that?" She interrupted, more amused than annoyed. "I know how much you hate titles, Princess."
"And I know how much you love them, so I can make an exception." Arya replied with a grin. "Listen," Her expression shifted, growing more serious as she continued, "we've already cleared the air about how awful we were to each other in the past, but I need you to know how much I've enjoyed this time we spent together. I've been struggling with my own issues for a while, and you helped me. A lot."
Sansa felt her eyes growing misty. "We helped each other." Winterfell still held plenty of terrible memories for her, things she wouldn't soon forget. But with her family's help she was slowly rebuilding the ancient and warm castle from her childhood, brick by brick.
"I suppose we did. You know…" Arya's expression softened as she cast her eyes around the courtyard. "In my travels, whenever I thought of home, I used to think of Jon. He gave me strength to go on, to do what I had to do and come back to see him again. That's what Winterfell meant to me."
"You changed that." She turned to face her, the dimming light of early afternoon reflected in her eyes. "You made me feel welcome in a way I didn't even know I needed. It was… nice to finally have a sister who accepted me as I am, and we worked well together. Like a pack of wolves. When I think of home now, I'll remember that. I'll remember you. So…" Arya stepped back and bowed low, the lowest she had ever gone. "Thank you, my Queen."
Sansa stepped forward and brought her sister into a bear hug, holding her close and allowing fat tears to fall, her wet cheeks resting atop the raven-haired Stark. She wanted to give a nice speech right back, to make sure her sister knew how much she would be missed, but the words wouldn't form, her throat closing up with sobs and hiccups.
Eventually, they let each other go. Arya hurried to mount her palfrey, wiping her face on the back of her hand as she went galloping away. Sansa stood watching long after her sister became a dot in the distance, the South Gate still open, a myriad of terrible thoughts creeping on her mind.
What if she falls from her horse?
What if the ship is attacked?
What if the Faceless Men find her?
What if Cersei kills her?
What if I never see her again?
"Your Grace?" A deep voice disturbed her thoughts, making her both grateful and upset at the intrusion. Turning around, she spotted the solid figure of Dickon Tarly, holding up a handkerchief and looking at her with concern. "Is something wrong?"
She thanked him and wiped her cold cheeks, noticing the intricate embroidery on the soft cloth. "No, I just said goodbye to my sister." Sansa glanced back at the Gate, taking a deep breath. "It's funny how things can change… She's my only sister, we were raised together in this castle, but it seems like we're just starting to really get to know each other." She turned to look at him. "I miss her more now than in all the years we've spent apart. Does that make sense?"
Lord Tarly was clearly confused by the question, his brows furrowed in thought. Which made her think about him. After a couple of guided tours around the castle grounds, she had grown used to his solid presence by her side. It felt natural for her, which was odd. Most of the time, when a man approached her she would tense up, becoming more alert to whatever might happen, almost by instinct.
I have Ramsay to thank for that.
She didn't know exactly why Dickon made her so comfortable. Looking at the sheer size of him, anyone would feel intimidated. Tall, strong and often wearing plated armour, he always seemed ready for battle. But there was a softer side to him, which made itself known whenever he opened his mouth.
"I'm afraid I don't know much about matters of the heart, Your Grace." He said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "But I believe it's a blessing that you managed to care for each other again. Not everyone gets that chance." His voice faltered at the end, hinting of a personal experience.
"You've mentioned siblings during one of our walks." Sansa had enjoyed the man's company, though he was remarkably quiet, content to simply listen to her voice as she went on and on about Winterfell's history. Am I boring him? Maybe I should get him to talk more. "Are you close to any of them?"
"Well, my sister Talla is the nicest woman I know, next to my mother. Bright and talented, her gift with needle and thread is her pride and joy." He pointed at the handkerchief, which bore the sigil of their House embroidered in great detail. Impressive stitching. "She's the one who made that, and many of my finer clothes too."
"She sounds delightful, I'd love to meet her someday." Sansa offered, actually eager to find someone who shared her interests. She would always love Arya, but the only needlework her sister enjoyed was with her slender blade. I suppose that must be fun in its own way.
Dickon nodded. "I think she'd like you. My sister can be a bit overbearing sometimes, given that she's older than me, but I'm certain the two of you would get along. In fact…" He stood with his mouth open for a few seconds, before closing it and shaking his head. "No, nevermind."
"What is it?"
"It's nothing. I was just wondering…" His voice faltered at the end, and it was clear he wouldn't go on. She placed a hand on his arm, trying to encourage him to speak his mind. He still seemed uncertain, avoiding her eyes as he continued, "If you would be willing to discuss a betrothal, Your Grace."
Sansa paused to consider. "For your sister?" She cast her mind, trying to remember which northern families had unmarried young men. "It's a fine idea. The North may have declared independence, but it would be nice to maintain a good relationship with the southern kingdoms." She nodded, allowing herself a smile. "Very well, I'll make a list of potential suitors and pass it along, then you can send it to your sister and your mother for approval and we can discuss it further."
"Oh, uh…" He blinked several times, his eyes downcast. "Good, t-that's good… I'll be waiting." Dickon's expression didn't seem to match his words, his face showing even more pain than before. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace." He bowed and left, walking away with hunched shoulders.
Well, that was odd…
Brienne cleared her throat, and Sansa finally looked back to notice that Bran and maester Wolkan were both gone.
"Where's Bran?"
"He left shortly after Princess Arya." Her sworn shield replied. "I suppose you were too distracted to notice. And, if I may say so, you failed to notice something else, Your Grace."
Sansa frowned. "What was it?" Arya's departure must have affected her even more deeply than she thought, if she was missing things left and right.
"When Lord Tarly mentioned a betrothal, I don't think he was referring to his sister." Brienne said, her eyebrows moving as she spoke, a knowing look in her eyes.
"You mean…" Was I that blind?
The tall woman nodded, a rare smile showing itself on her face. "Yes, I believe he was trying to ask for your hand in marriage, in his own awkward way."
Sansa paused to consider the proposition. The thought of having to marry again was always on her mind, ever since that discussion she had with Lord Baelish and Ser Davos months ago. Back then, she would only be expected to provide another ally for her king. As queen, now it was her duty to provide heirs for her kingdom. She knew Arya would never accept being queen, and she couldn't even imagine her sister becoming a mother or raising children of her own.
The future of House Stark rests on my shoulders.
"How can you be sure?" She asked, stalling for time.
In truth, she had hoped to avoid another marriage altogether. Her few experiences had caused enough damage to last for a lifetime. While Tyrion had been kind enough to refrain from his urges, she remembered seeing lust in his mismatched eyes as he stared at a scared, half-naked little girl. It seemed strange to feel such gratitude towards a man who simply did not force himself on her.
That's not fair, she chastised herself. He did protect me from Joffrey. I'm grateful for that.
And Ramsay… Well, anyone would be a hero when compared to that monster. As much as she wanted to forget everything the bastard did, her scarred body was living proof of his depravity. If not for maester Wolkan secretly giving her moon tea, she would have had yet another reminder. Sansa couldn't even imagine how complicated the situation would have become then, being forced to bear a monster's child.
Could I love my child while hating my husband?
Cersei's face made its way into her mind, reminding her of that terrible example. The woman had claimed to love her children but, from what Sansa had seen, it didn't look like love at all. And those twisted feelings had made them all suffer.
Brienne's voice brought her back to reality. "I could be wrong, but his reaction made it obvious. I suppose he lacks the confidence to correct you, so he went along with your mistake." Her expression shifted, her features softening a bit. "He reminds me a bit of myself when I was younger. I used to accept everything people assumed about me, without standing up for what I truly wanted, just going along with the flow. Needless to say, it's not a healthy way to live."
Sansa had to remind herself to shut her mouth, left hanging open as she listened to her protector's words. Brienne had never displayed such wisdom before, especially not in such a personal way.
"Do you think I should talk to him?" She asked, hoping for more advice.
"Yes, Your Grace. I believe that would be for the best." The tall woman nodded. "Even if you refuse him, at least he'll know where you stand and you could try to salvage a friendship. Honesty is always the better choice."
She took a deep breath, huffing out the cold air in her lungs. "Frankly, I find it difficult to see myself ever getting married again. After Ramsay, I just don't know if I can trust any man…"
Brienne stood silent for several moments until she finally said, "I understand. Once lost, trust is hard to find." Her solemn face indicated she was speaking from experience. "Don't feel compelled to do anything against your will. As queen, you don't owe anyone an explanation."
"That's not exactly true, though, is it?" Sansa asked, without waiting for a reply. "As queen, it's my duty to provide an heir to my kingdom, so my people can feel safe knowing who follows me after I'm gone."
Being a monarch wasn't as liberating as it had seemed from a distance. Many rulers believed they could do as they wished, but the ones who actually followed that foolish notion did not rule for long. She had many ideas about the future of the North, and most of them would take several years of constant effort to implement. Sansa hoped her reign would last long enough for that, but hoping had never gotten her anything.
"You won't be gone anytime soon." Brienne countered, grasping the hilt of her blade. "Not if I have anything to say about that."
"Whether sooner or later, I'll be gone eventually. Jon is a Targaryen, Arya probably won't have children, and Bran is more Raven than Stark now." She sighed, feeling the weight on her shoulders become even heavier. "The future of my House depends on me."
Brienne sighed as well, if more softly. "It's a heavy burden… However, if you want my advice—"
"I do." Sansa admitted, giving her a smile. "In fact, I want you to speak up more often from now on. I didn't know you could be so perceptive. And wise."
Her sworn shield seemed slightly embarrassed by the compliment, but nodded. "I'll try, Your Grace. My advice is that you give Lord Tarly a chance." She pointed at the general direction he had gone. "I confess I don't know him very well, but nothing I've seen made me as nervous as what I've seen on other young men who have craved your attention in these past few weeks."
Harry. After her constant rebukes, the handsome heir of the Vale had been spotted with many red haired women, some servants and a few ladies of the North. If the rumours were true, there was even talk of bastards already. If she still harboured any doubts about him, that certainly put them to rest.
Brienne wasn't finished. "Admittedly, my own experience is limited." She conceded, and Sansa briefly wondered if the woman had actually lain with any man at all, before focusing back on her words. "What I've learned is that one man does not represent all men. Just like one woman cannot stand for all of us." She turned her blue eyes down to fix her with a stare. "Ramsay was punished for his actions. He's dead and gone, mostly thanks to you. You're free now. Why allow his memory to continue tormenting you?"
Sansa was left wondering that very question. Why indeed…
She had watched Ramsay get eaten by his own hounds, in the same way he had killed many innocent women. By all rights, he should be gone from her mind. Erased. But there was a lingering feeling she just couldn't shake off. It wasn't just the memories or the scars, it was more than that. She felt broken, deeply ashamed of her own body and how it was used to pleasure that monster and others before him, blaming herself for how she had been abused.
Throughout her childhood, everyone had praised her beauty. Many would compare her favourably against her mother, and she remembered enjoying the praise, especially when Arya didn't receive the same attention. Only when she grew older and left the safety of Winterfell did she truly understand the dangers of that attention. In King's Landing, men had tried to rape her even before her first moonblood. Her once source of pride had slowly become a liability.
Deep down, she knew Brienne was right that not all men were the same. And that perhaps Dickon Tarly would treat her better than the men she had encountered so far. However, before agreeing to the proposal, she had to be sure about him.
If I ever decide to marry again, it should be for the last time.
Three-eyed Raven
I need to see better.
That had been his constant dilemma, ever since he took the new vessel. The broken body of Brandon Stark may be limited physically, but his powers felt even stronger than before. Potentially. To his misfortune, Brynden Rivers had not been able to finish their training before they were attacked. Bloodraven had served his purpose, however, as far as any vessel should.
To find and prepare the next one.
Above all else, the Raven must endure.
Stretching out an arm, he placed his palm on the bark of the Heart Tree of Winterfell. The contact wasn't necessary, but there was something soothing about feeling the weirwood itself, to remember that they still existed and Men had not destroyed all of them. Not yet.
Looking through the tree, his mind's eye could glimpse everything it had experienced, from this very moment as the largest tree within leagues to its early beginnings as a tiny seed in the mossy ground, and even beyond that, as the tree from which the seed came, stretching out far back until the first weirwood. Such was the extent of his powers that he could barely comprehend half of what he saw, since the experiences of a tree were far too complex for a simple human mind to grasp.
Knowledge alone does not grant the wisdom to understand it.
Focusing his willpower, he leafed through the pages of that green book of life. Beyond the Wall to the north, his enemy stood at the head of a massive army of corpses, seemingly waiting for something. To the east, Tormund Giantsbane was approaching Winterfell with their prize locked in a crate, the returning party both smaller and stronger than before. Within the castle, Sansa Stark entertained Dickon Tarly and Alys Karstark under the watchful gaze of Ghost and Brienne of Tarth.
His main interest lay in the south. He could not see where Arya Stark was presently, for the seas were beyond his ken. With some effort, he willed his mind to peruse the future, casting ahead to what may or may not happen, aware of the uncertain nature of his inquiry.
The pages kept changing and being rewritten as soon as he read them. One page showed her killing Cersei, another showed her demise at the hands of a Faceless Men, another showed her smiling as she hugged a prince, another showed her kissing a blue-eyed boy, another showed them in bed together, another showed her being burned alive by red priests… After several frustrating attempts, he broke contact.
I'll have to trust my original foresight.
Turning to his side, he spotted Podrick Payne standing by. Sansa Stark had assigned the squire as his guard, in an attempt to release the maester from the burden of having to wheel him about. He did not care who did it, so long as someone did.
"Take me to the queen, Podrick Payne." He commanded.
After thousands of years, he had grown used to opening his mouth and hearing someone else's voice speak in his stead. That this voice belonged to a half-grown boy did not affect him as much as the fact that he required assistance in the first place.
Hopefully, my next vessel will be more independent.
It was a simple matter to inform the Queen in the North about the impending arrival of her guests, and he did not care enough to pay close attention to any of it. While she busied herself preparing the castle for more visitors, he tried to recall his latest visions.
His last forays beyond the Wall had shown his enemy unnaturally quiet, and that concerned him. He knew that spiteful creature would stop at nothing except his complete and utter destruction, body and mind, so this apparent calm was unnerving.
However, his ability to perceive certain memories had been limited somehow, almost as if some pages were blotted out, preventing him from reading. He had assumed it was only a temporary effect due to the boy's lack of training, but none of the other vessels had presented such a problem before…
"Look what I brought you, Red Queen!" A loud booming voice brought him back to the present. Tormund Giantsbane was dismounting from his horse while the rest of his group filed inside, the large crate on a sled being given a wide berth by everyone who wasn't pulling it.
Apparently, someone had wheeled him to the South Gate, where a large party had gathered to welcome the new arrivals. This was not an unusual occurrence for him, as the present seldom held his interest for long.
If I miss anything important, I can always look back.
"You brought? You?" Sandor Clegane fired back, lifting the rope he had been holding high up in the air. "We're the ones who had to pull this thing all the way from that fuckin—"
"I'm sure Tormund was about to give us some credit, Clegane." Beric Dondarrion's calming tone interrupted. He had already dismounted and was making his way towards the Queen. "Let us not forget simple niceties." Once he reached her, he fell to one knee. "Your Grace, I am Beric Dondarrion, and in the name of the Brotherhood Without Banners I beg your leave to stay in the North and assist in the war against the dead."
"We'll need every help we can get." Sansa Stark nodded. "You look different than I remember, my lord. The last time I saw you was during the tourney honouring my father's appointment as Hand to King Robert Baratheon."
Curious, the Raven shut his eyes and watched the scene from the past unfold. A young red-haired girl seemed impressed by all the southern lords and knights, laughing with her friend as they pointed, competing to see who could name the most banners and sigils. One of those banners depicted a purple lightning bolt on a starry black field, which the red-haired girl recognised instantly. Beneath the banner rode a dashing man with red-gold hair, flashing a smile at everyone, his black destrier covered by a long caparison with the same colours from his House.
When he reopened his eyes and focused back on the present, the Raven noticed the differences in each of them, which went far beyond the obvious. The Queen in the North had lost more than her innocence, and the Lord of Blackhaven had lost more than his eye.
As usual, his brief visit to the past had made him miss something in the present, for the party seemed smaller now. Robert Arryn and his soldiers were gone, along with the maester, leaving the Brotherhood hovering around the crate, ready to open it.
"You sure about this?" Tormund asked, looking at the queen. "Won't be pretty…"
Sansa Stark briefly glanced around at the gathered lords, before turning back. "It's about time my people understood the danger we face." Resolute, she nodded.
The man nodded back and moved in tandem with the others, lifting the lid of the crate with a considerable amount of effort. After a few heartbeats, the creature scrambled over and raced at full speed towards the resting body of Brandon Stark.
"NO!"
The queen's shout was as loud as it was unnecessary. He knew there were ropes tying the thing to the strong arms of both Sandor Clegane and Beric Dondarrion, so he was unsurprised when the creature stopped inches away from his chair, the skeletal fingers grasping at the air while icy blue eyes stared at nothing. Peering into those dead eyes, he could sense the mind of its master far away beyond the Wall.
I created my own nightmare.
"Well? Do you all understand now?" Tormund asked the crowd, moving to pick up the burlap sack strewn over the crate. He didn't wait for an answer, quickly covering the creature. "There's a lot more where this fucker came from. Thousands more. And the Walkers can always raise others, so we'll be right and proper buggered if we start losing men early on. They'll just come back and fuck us in the arse."
While Sansa Stark and the other lords considered the man's dire warning, he had his own mysteries to solve.
"I watched you after the battle." He said, his voice always at the same even tone. "Before you left for Eastwatch, you spent a long time at that clearing. Why?"
The question felt odd to his own ears, as he should have been able to see what happened there. For some reason, that moment had become blurred to his eyes. This was yet another example of his powers failing him. Even now, should he try to look back, there would be nothing there to see. It vexed him, this newfound weakness. He wasn't used to ignorance.
Ignorance is death.
"Wha…?" Tormund Giantsbane seemed confused for a moment, before his beard twitched and his eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, that… We found a hidden cache there, filled with dragonglass and a bunch of other junk, including this useless thing…" He said, presenting an old horn.
The Raven stared at it, dumbfounded at the revelation. I couldn't see any of that. "May I hold it?" He asked, and the red-haired man surrendered the object. Holding it proved no different, there was nothing about this horn's history available to him. "Did you blow it?"
"Aye," the man replied, nodding, "and nothing came out, not even a peep. I think it's broken, but I've blown broken horns before and they always made a sound. This one… I don't know what's different."
After trying to look back and failing once more, he whispered, "I can't see it."
"What do you mean you can't see it?" Sansa Stark's voice broke through the courtyard, as she walked closer. "You're holding it now."
He sighed deeply, regretting the words that came unbidden from his mouth. He despised having to explain himself, especially when he had to enlighten people about the limits of his powers. After enduring for so long, he had learned to cultivate the aura of mystery surrounding him.
Knowledge is power. It is unwise to part with it so easily.
And yet, something compelled to reply. "I can see what's right in front of me with Brandon Stark's eyes. However, I cannot glimpse its history. Where it came from, who put it there and why, or who made it in the first place…" A tired sigh escaped his lips. "That knowledge is hidden from me."
Casting his eyes down, he focused on it. A simple broken horn, in a dark colour banded with bronze, unassuming and faded with time. He tried to find any distinguishing marks along the band, pressing his fingers close and slowly running them across until…
There!
Runes were etched upon the cracked bronze band, so small and faded they would be missed by most people. Bringing the horn closer to his eyes, he recognised the script as one similar to what the First Men used to carve, thousands of years ago in their early dealings with the Children of the Forest, well before the Pact.
"This is ancient," he murmured softly, more to himself.
Sansa Stark had excellent hearing, for she heard him once again. "Can you read it?"
"It says, 'One Land. One People. One Fate. Sound me and…' It breaks off at the end where the band is cracked." He replied, still wondering why his sight was blocked.
"But what does that mean?" She asked, her voice betraying her nerves. "If Tormund sounded it and nothing happened, does that mean it doesn't work? Is it just an ordinary broken horn?"
Holding the heavy horn in his hands, he felt a terrible sense of dread radiating from it, a powerful aura which he couldn't describe in words. Without his sight, however, the horn would remain a mystery. A dangerous one.
"The truth eludes me at the moment." Was all he said, despite his misgivings. If he couldn't be sure of anything, it would be unwise to say more.
Tormund coughed and reached out his hand. "Can I have it back then?"
The Raven hesitated, shutting his eyes and calming his mind to try to glimpse the possible outcomes of his choice, leafing through that massive book once again.
What happens if I give him the horn?
And what if I don't?
His attempt was for naught, as the pages seemed blotted out in darkness regardless of his choice. A darkness so strong, it seemed never-ending, threatening to pull him into an abyss and erase him into nothingness. With some effort, he returned to the body of Brandon Stark, inhaling the cold air of the North.
Reopening his eyes, he surrendered the horn to the red-haired man, who took it and turned back to face the red-haired queen.
"I reckon you'll want to send the wight south right away?"
Sansa Stark nodded, her face grim. "Yes, I believe that would be best." Turning to see the other men around the crate, which was already sealed again, she said, "I understand it was a long journey, so I'll give you a couple of days to rest and gather your strength, but I want this creature at King's Landing before the month's end."
After that, she motioned to a servant and made preparations for rooms and other things he could not bring himself to care. His mind was still reeling from the revelation that his problem was far graver than he had allowed himself to admit.
If I cannot see…
Everyone is blind.
I wasn't planning a Bran chapter so soon, but I figured it was the most convincing way to ignore a bunch of reunions.
Also, I'm still unsure about Sansa and Dickon. Her chapter was supposed to be a bit longer, but I couldn't find a compelling way to write them. It was pretty boring, to be honest. But maybe that's what she's looking for now, I don't know. I'll think about it.
This should be the last Winterfell chapter for a long while. Unless I change my mind, we'll only come back when everyone else does too.
29/05/2021