Where am I?
Carl jolted upright in his sleeping bag. It was far less comfortable than his warm bed in Alexandria, itchy even, but at least it wasn't as bad as sleeping on the ground. I'm growing soft, the boy told himself.
Or maybe not. Carl still remembered the thrill of riding into the Lannister camp after gunning down the mountain and escaping those trying to avenge him. One shot, killing one of the Mountain's men who was about to slay the fat captive in the mermaid coat. Then a hollow 'click' when another camp guard arrived. There had been a few swords lying around, but Carl would surely have been no match against the Westerosi when it came to swordsmanship, so he picked up a spear instead. One quick lunge, and the second guard had fallen, noisily clutching at the spear-shaft jutting out from his bowels. That had bought Carl enough time to reload. He killed five or six more quicker than he could count to three, and the Lannisters finally gave up. The winds had tugged at Carl's clothes as he rode back out of the camp as swiftly as he rode in, the Northmen prisoners freeing themselves now that all the guards had fled.
And now the fat man in the mermaid coat was sitting in Carl's tent. He still wore the same coat, but with full plate armour underneath and a drawn sword on his lap.
"Morning, Ser Wylis." Carl scrunched up his nose. His breath smelled just a bit too sweet. "Where's Dad? And why are you still here in my tent?"
"Lord Grimes is at Castle Darry with some of you Alexandrians. Some more Northmen were occupying the castle, but they weren't left behind by Lord Bolton. They came directly from King Robb's host.
"Rick," Carl corrected. "Dad's our leader but he ain't a lord. And wouldn't Robb's army be several hundred miles north of here by now?"
Wylis nodded, his face grave. "Your father wanted none of us Northmen with him when he talked with them. All we can do is wait. What did Utt tell you last night?"
"Utt?" The septon had taken Carl back to his tent after he quarrelled with his dad, and poured him more wine to drink too, wine sweeter than anything back in Alexandria. The Alexandrians followed a different religion, he had told Utt. To Carl's relief, the septon hadn't seemed to mind, though he had been happy to read stories to him from the Seven-Pointed Star. The septon haddn't mind the tears rolling off Carl's remaining eye, either, when they got to the section about The Mother.
"Andrea's great, but Judith never even got to see Mom, I mean Lori… It's not fair!" Carl had cried between sobs.
"I know, hush, I know." Utt had pulled him closer in. Carl had been very tired then, growing sleepier every second. Maybe from the fighting, or the drinking, or the crying.
After that, his memories blurred. He had been lying on top of his sleeping bag at some point, staring blankly at the top of the tent, when he had heard a sword being drawn. Murmuring, followed by some shouting. Then Wylis's face looming over Carl's.
"Is that all?" Wylis asked after Carl finished his short tale.
"That's all I remember. Next thing I know, you're still in my tent when I've just woken up..."
Michonne's head poked into the tent. "We're packing up and heading over to Castle Darry. Rick has an important announcement to make."
On the way to Darry, Carl could still smell the stench that emanated from yesterday's battlefield. Sure, walker hordes gave off their own rotten smell, but that was nowhere close to the miasma of human destruction and suffering that lingered upon these fields. More enemies had fallen in five minutes than in all the battles Carl had fought in up to that point, combined. When his father directed the overall cleanup, he did what he could to help save wounded Lannister soldiers. If for nothing else, every additional one alive probably meant another pair of hands to repair Harrenhal or even Alexandria. Some of them were only there for their leader anyway, just like Carl himself was, and that did not automatically deserve death.
Carl's heart sank when he saw the flag on top of Castle Darry. The Stark direwolf flew at half the flagpole's height.
"I'm afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news today." His father's voice boomed from inside the castle, when the combined host was assembled beneath Darry's walls. "The King in the North was betrayed and murdered by House Frey and Bolton at The Twins. Robb Stark is dead, along with most of his army, but his cause still lives. Michonne, Vargo, Wylis, Carl. Meet me at the main hall. The rest of you stay outside."
Carl scowled. This sucked for their new Northmen allies, and something would have to be done if the treachery were true, but he didn't understand why his Dad sounded even sadder than when Mom died, when they had never even met this King Robb. Or why he sounded so angry when he was gonna spare all the Freys and Lannisters anyway when this new war ends. There would probably be a big speech that said little of note too. Something something civilization something something we're better than this something something.
"No. No. No." Ser Wylis whispered. The Manderly knight's eyes turned puffy red. Cries of grief and mourning swept through the northmen's ranks. More banners, be they Stark direwolf, the Goat of Qohor, or the Alexandrians' stars-and-stripes, were lowered to half mast, though Vargo seemed somewhat less affected than the rest.
"The Stark flag still flies, Wylis," Carl comforted, "and I'll do everything I can to keep it flying a bit longer. If it helps, I have nothing against hacking off a few more heads later. Those fuckers deserve a taste of their own medicine. What would the Young Wolf do?"
"Avenge him, and save what remains of his Kingdom and House." Wylis gathered himself and strode through the castle's portcullis. "Come on. We have work to do."
Rick was sitting on what was once Lord Darry's chair when the four finally entered. "Who's actually in charge of the North now? And who's the new king or queen?"
"The Blackfish-" Wylis started, plopping his bulbous rear end down on an especially large chair.
"Brynden Tully?" Michonne asked, taking her seat.
"Yes. Ser Brynden Tully, the late King Robb's uncle, commands what remains of the Riverlander armies and should be 'actually in charge'. He should be at Riverrun, though it would not be long until the Freys pay him a visit with their hosts. Probably not even bothering with bread and salt too. Sansa Stark, Ned Stark's older daughter, is now the eldest trueborn Stark, but she is held prisoner by the Lannisters at King's Landing. Ned Stark's bastard son Jon Snow is at the Wall. He already joined the Night's Watch, but it seems that oaths these days matter far less than they used to. And some say Arya Stark, Sansa's younger sister, is still alive. But no one has seen her since the day Lord Eddard was betrayed." Wylis counted on his fingers. "Sansa should be about four-and-ten, Lord Grimes. Or maybe five-and-ten. Not much older than Carl. If we can ransom her-"
"We'll need gold for that then. Or prisoners to exchange her for. But we will need those prisoners first." Rick Grimes unfurled a rough sketch he made from the Brave Companions' Westeros map. "Wylis, Michonne… Carl, gather what remains of the Young Wolf's army, then march south to Harrenhal. I'll take the Alexandrians to Riverrun and help free the castle if necessary. The Brave Companions will follow us."
"But-" Carl and Vargo said at the same time.
"Lord Rickard, but what about our Harrenhal?
"I want to go to Riverrun too. I'll help just as I did here, dad."
Rick gently patted Carl's shoulder. "You did well, son, but I've already put you in enough danger as it is. And Wylis will need all the help he can get. For all we know, there could be a Frey army on the northern bank of the-" He looked at the sketch again. "-Trident."
"As for you, Vargo, there's no need to worry. Harrenhal will be garrisoned by Alexandrians. We have more than enough firepower to fend off any army, Lannister… or otherwise."
Vargo gulped. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it when no words came out.
"What should we do next? We should send a message to the Lannisters. They're bound to know about us sooner or later. Maybe we could begin negotiations -" Michonne suggested.
"Negotiations?" Carl's boyish laughter filled the not-so-Great Hall. "Mish, the Lannisters literally slaughtered people at a feast. Should we slaughter them when negotiating, or let them slaughter us?"
"Don't jump to conclusions, Carl," Michonne said softly. "From what we've heard, which could itself be embellished or out of date, it was the Freys and Boltons who killed the Young Wolf and his army. The Lannisters are probably behind this, but we don't have concrete evidence yet, and we can't rule the Westerosi by impulsive decision-making. We'll make a lot of enemies that way."
"We'll talk to them when they're defeated," Rick ruled. "Wylis, are there pigeons to send mail to the Red Keep?"
"Ravens, my lord, not pigeons," Wylis answered.
"Good, at least we don't have to send a messenger. Carl, write down my words."
Carl gingerly rubbed his right wrist when Rick was done dictating his terms. The message was not particularly long, but Rick spoke quickly, and the table's surface was rough.
"Send this message to King's Landing on New Year's Day. By then we should have taken Riverrun and hopefully linked up with the Tullys. This should lure the Lannisters to Harrenhal and we'll bloody their nose there. Time's short, and even a few hours could make a difference if the Freys get to Riverrun first, so I'll plan the rest of our strategy on the way." Rick rose from Lord Darry's chair and strode out of the Great Hall, followed by the rest of his entourage.
Rick knelt down at the stables, his eyes level with Carl's while he instructed his son. "Be a good boy, listen to the adults, you know the drill." Carl made a face. Dad's leaving me behind again. "But you made me very proud yesterday with how you saved that Manderly guy. I'll see you around." Then Rick stood up, hopped on his horse and rode west into the afternoon sun. Before long, the Alexandrians and Brave Companions vanished among the fertile plains.
The Northern host stayed in nearby Harroway for three days, receiving even more men fleeing south from what was now called the Red Wedding. Most of them were still cavalry, though there were a few infantry who managed to steal horses amidst the confusion at the Twins.
"How about here?" Carl asked Wylis just before dawn on the third day, over a tattered map borrowed from an injured captain. "Inn at the Crossroads, where the-" He squinted at the map. "-Kingsroad, River Road and High Road meet. Seems like if people are fleeing from the slaughter, this is where they'd end up. We could go there and get ourselves more soldiers with hardly any trouble. And we'd get more news there too."
Wylis pondered Carl's suggestion. "Too dangerous. I shall not have my army cross the Ruby Ford when half of our men are injured. Even with you two, I'm barely keeping this army together."
"Then I'll go myself, and stay north of Harrenhal a week or two longer." Carl offered.
"No." Michonne stated. "As helpful as that would be, how should I face your father if you do not return? Rick asked you to listen to the adults, and last I checked Wylis and I are the adults in charge here."
"Dad asked me to listen to the adults, and I've listened. But he didn't ask me to follow you. I know I can be stubborn, but there's no other way to do this. We're very short on people now, we barely know what's going on even in this town, and anyone who could massacre their guests at a feast would not be too merciful to any stragglers they can catch. This is my duty to my father, the leader Rick Grimes. My duty to Alexandria, and its new Northern allies... What's so funny?" Carl scowled.
"Nothing." Michonne still did not wipe the smirk off her face. "I can't stop you if you want to go to that Inn, and I now know better than to try. Go. Gather as much intel and as many men as you can. What you get might even be helpful. But please, don't try to hold your ground against more than five people at the same time. If the Freys' armies are close, make your way to Harrenhal. I'll give you ten days before I send people to search for you. And I know you don't want people to die searching for you."
"You spoke of duty, yet remember you also have a duty to stay alive," Wylis added. "For your father, for Alexandria, for us Northmen. Here. Take my ring, so that Robb's men will know you are a friend."
Carl tipped his hat at Michonne, then Wylis, before picking up the mermaid ring. "Please send my regards to Mom and Judith when you get back." Then Carl stood up, leapt on his horse, and rode into the morning sun.
...
Carl carefully sipped at his flagon of beer on his break, eyeing the handful of customers.
The taste was still bitter and alien to him, and he would have asked for water instead rather than drink beer every day, but he'd read that back in the day people drank beer like water because the alcohol would kill all the germs. Carl didn't know if it was true, but he wasn't in the mood to kill himself figuring out. Such things were best left to Eugene.
Dad would have skinned him if he was caught drinking that much alcohol back in Alexandria. But Rick Grimes was now hundreds of miles away, and the nearest Alexandrian south of the Trident.
He had not been idle the past few days. The Innkeep had given him room and board in exchange for his services. Pots needed to be scrubbed, floors needed to be swept, and Innkeeper Heddle even let him help balance the books. It seemed like not many Westerosi were any good at this sort of work.
But Carl preferred to serve the customers. Not only did it involve less labour, but Carl could eavesdrop on newsworthy conversations, while keeping a close eye on the comings and goings. Wounded men were not difficult to spot, and when Carl finally spotted stragglers, he would walk to their table, discreetly display Wylis' mermaid-and-trident seal, and give the men some copper pennies to rent a room. Usually they went from the inn to Harrenhal. Carl figured he'd sent a few dozen down that way by now.
The door flung open. First came the man with half a burned face, marred just like Dwight's, then the boy with brown hair. Perhaps it was a fleeing Northman and his squire. Or maybe just two weary travellers on these roads. Carl set down his drink and headed over.