"Do take a seat, your highness," the light-skinned woman suggested. "I'm Maggy, leader of the Hilltop. Kinda in charge here with Rick still gone. My friend here is Mish-own." Mish-own? What sort of name was that? Maggy was surely referring to her dark companion, yet Arya did not know how to pronounce the name even after hearing it. Most of the people here had normal, Westerosi-sounding names. Were there multiple peoples amongst the Alexandrians, like the Rhoynar, Andals, and First Men?
Seeing Arya's confusion, Maggy flipped her small book open, and started writing with a black stone tip on the end of a wooden rod. M-A-G-G-I-E, she first wrote, and the other woman's name was M-I-C-H-O-N-N-E. The fat Alexandrian with Wylis was E-U-G-E-N-E. Luckily, the Alexandrians wrote using the same letters Arya learnt from Maester Luwin all those years ago. "Is this your name?" Maggie pointed to A-R-Y-A.
Arya nodded, but her focus had already switched to the writing implement. "What's that?"
"Oh, this? It's a pencil. Here, keep it if you want. We have more." Maggie gave her the strange wooden rod. "I'll get you a sharpener later. Y'all will have your clothes mended, and be given room and board. Speaking of food, we got some for you right now."
Michonne drew three loaves of bread from a small bag. She gave one loaf to Arya, another to the Hound, and the last to Ser Raynald. "We added salt to the bread, following the custom of your people. You and your subjects can stay for as long as you want on this side of the lake, and hold court or train your own soldiers, at least until Rick comes back."
Arya dug into the loaf of bread. It wasn't much, but she had been on the road long enough to know that any food was better than none.
"The bread is good. The salt too. But after all the trouble I took to bring you Arya Stark, safe and sound, can you throw a dog more than just bones? I could have sold her to the Lannisters, who would have offered much gold for her."
"As the new saying goes, the Lannisters and their gold are soon parted. But the three of you shall each have your reward," Michonne offered. Three? The Hound was one, and Ser Raynald the other. Who was the third? "We do not have much gold at the moment, or even use our own coin, but I'm sure you can see that we have goods that you will value just as highly." She reached down and took two small cloth pouches. "The waist bags can be worn on your belts. Just thread them through your belt, or lift the side like this, pull it over your belt, and place it back down." She pulled on a piece of metal on one of the pouches. The pouch's two sides parted, revealing two objects within.
The small slab was what she called a 'lighter'. Michonne put her finger against a steel wheel and spun it. The top of the small slab burst into flame. "You can use this to start campfires. But don't waste too much fuel." The other was what she called a 'watch', a small belt that could be worn about one's wrist and did not depend on the sun or water to tell time. Arya wished she had those too. Perhaps Karl could get her some.
"Do you like these?" Maggie asked cautiously.
"I'd like a watch of gold," the Hound snorted. "I'll take the steel watch for now. Maybe I could sell it for gold."
"Fight for us, or our Northern allies, and you just might get some gold later." Maggie rose from her chair. "But now I wish to talk to Karl alone. Michonne will interview Sam, James and Klementine. If the rest of you will head out, Ser Wylis will show you how well his men are training with their muskets."
True to Maggie's word, Ser Wylis was waiting with several of his men outside the Alexandrians' hall, their guns nearly as tall as they were. Several wooden boards cut into the shapes of soldiers lay on the other side of Wylis' small company. "There you are, Princess Arya. We may be fewer in number than when we first left White Harbor, but we are no less fierce, and no less loyal. He unsheathed his sword and strode towards the small group of men. "Watch carefully, my lady. With the Alexandrians' new guns, each of these Northmen is now worth more than ten southrons. Nock!"
After fiddling with a piece of rope near the back of their gun, each man took a paper roll out of their small bags, bit open the top, poured some dust down the mouth of their guns, then seated a small piece of steel at the mouth. Then they drew a stick and pushed it down the gun's tube, before yanking it back out again and sheathing it under the gun.
"Draw!" Wylis yelled. The men brought up their guns, braced them against their shoulders, and pointed the guns' mouths towards the wooden boards.
"Loose!"
In a deafening roll, flames erupted from the back of each gun. Arya wrinkled her nose as plumes of acrid smoke merged into a grey cloud and drifted towards the onlookers. How could anyone even fight in this thick smog?
When the roar of the guns finally died down, and the smoke had been blown away by the crisp breeze, most of the wooden soldiers had at least one hole in them. Several had more.
The company advanced, blades pointed at the imaginary foe. Finally, around ten paces in front of the wooden soldiers, Wylis' men let out shouts of 'Winterfell' or 'Riverrun' or 'The North Remembers', driving their blades into the thin pieces of wood and knocking them down as they charged.
"If you want to charge the enemy, have your men fire their muskets right before charging in. Most of your bullets would have missed from so far away," Eugene observed. "Can they volley fire yet?"
"No. You know these were spearmen, not crossbowmen, and they've started training only a few days ago," Wylis explained.
"At least it's better than noth- Doc Carson, any news about the Lannister prisoners from the Darry battle?" Eugene asked a man in a white coat who was just walking by.
Doc opened a small book and started reading. "A few more died of their injuries. We left their corpses alone for a while before burial to see if any of them would turn, but none have so far."
"Turn?" Arya asked. She remembered Karl had used that word before. Something about the dead rising to eat the living in his world, or lands, before the Alexandrians appeared here.
"Corpses rising from the dead!" Raynald scoffed when Eugene explained the 'walkers'.
"Ser Raynold, it could be just the Alexandrians who turn into shambling corpses after they die, though I haven't seen any of the walking dead myself." Wylis suggested, though he didn't seem to believe it either.
"I suppose they have no reason to lie," Arya replied lamely. Old Nan often told stories about the Others that once prowled the lands of the living during the Long Night, seeking to wipe out every creature with hot blood in its veins with their hordes of undead wights, before the Last Hero sought out the Children to end this onslaught once and for all. And at Winterfell they still sang of The Night that Ended, when the Night's Watch rode out to meet the Others and finally brought back the Dawn. Or so the stories and songs went. Yet Arya also knew that no Other or wight had been seen for thousands of years. All that was left of them, if they ever existed at all, were tales to frighten children at night.
Then there was Lord Beric. Thoros of Myr was able to save him from wounds that would have easily killed a man. Or did Beric die, and Thoros bring him back to life, the lightning lord losing just a little bit more of himself every time? Maybe what the Alexandrians said wasn't so incredible after all. And what Eugene said about the 'walkers' was almost word to word the same as Karl's. And speaking of Karl-
"Arya!" the boy waved. He walked out of the great hall with Sam by his side. James and Klem were behind the two, chattering about something but Arya was too far away to hear. Arya followed the four when they walked past, but the Hound and Ser Raynald stayed behind to watch the soldiers train.
They finally came to a stop in front of a house.
"Is this really your house? I thought your father rules Alexandria?" Arya asked. Even Winterfell's small sept would have towered over this.
"Yeah, it's our house. It looks smaller than it really is, but it's just me, Dad, Andrea and Judy. It's hard enough to keep clean as it is." He opened the door. "Oh, and remember the cables we saw on the way here? They're for this."
Karl flicked a small lever mounted on the wall. Several lamps lit up, though he had not even moved an inch. "Ta-da!"
Arya stood there dumbfounded. "How does this even work? There isn't a flame, or any oil."
"Do you Westerosi have water wheels? You direct a current of water to the water wheel's top, the water flows down-"
Arya crossed her arms. "I know what a water wheel is."
"Well this is the same. But instead of a current of water, this is a current of lightning that we got from the sun," Karl explained, though to Arya it just sounded like sorcery. But the lamps worked. She wondered if, when they retook Winterfell, they could have lamps like this in it.
"Wanna see my room?" Karl headed up the stairs. Arya followed behind Sam, with James and Klem following behind her.
Karl's room was smaller than Arya's back in Winterfell. Apart from a bed, a chair, and a few cabinets, a lone shelf lined one of the walls, full of pieces of wood carved into various shapes.
"These look wonderful! How long have you been making these?"
"A few months, started just after the war now that I don't have to gun people down too often. I hope one day my hands will be known for more than killing." Karl grabbed a few small wooden planks and a carving knife. "Does anyone want me to carve anything?"
"Can you carve this for me and my brothers?" Sam asked, fishing a piece of paper from her pocket, "It's the last we have of our whole family.". The paper had something like a painting on it, but the colours were more vivid, and Arya was sure that no painter in Westeros could make something as lifelike.
"A direwolf." Arya would have wanted several, but perhaps it was too much to ask, when the pack died and the lone wolf survived.
"Sure! But even if I do a rough outline, this one's gonna be hard. I'll carve Arya's wolf first." Karl sat in his chair, placed the piece of wood on the table, and began carving.
Pieces of wood flicked off Karl's knife. The wooden rectangle became just a bit rounder. Then legs appeared, followed by a sagging tail and a wolf's snout. A small cut to form the ear, a slight glance to carve the eye. A few more bits here and there, and a snarling direwolf was gently placed onto Arya's hand. "Could turn this into a brooch," he suggested.
"What do you want in return for this?" It was the first time Arya saw a carving made in front of her. This carving would not look out of place among the many treasures which once lay in Winterfell, she thought. Or the best King's Landing had to offer.
"I want you to fight by my side in the next battle. Might work without a Stark, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.
"I'll tell you later. But can you grab Josh and Mikey and bring them here while I do your carving? Might do one for Klementine too if she wants anything."
By the time the boys came back with Sam, Karl had just put the final touches to his next carving and was passing it around for everyone to admire. Arya didn't think it was just like the picture, but nobody could carve as well as the picture was painted.
"Hi Mikey," Karl stood up from his chair. "Don't see Mom or Judy around. Do you know where they are?"
Mikey pondered for a moment. "Judith's definitely with Claudia and her son. Heard Andrea's at the Hilltop or Kingdom sorting out some business since Maggie and Michonne are both here. Probably won't return before Rick's back."
"Phew," Karl sighed.
Everyone sat down after some shuffling. The three girls on Karl's bed, the three boys on the floor. Karl himself sat on the chair. He picked up a particularly long and narrow plank of wood and started carving again.
"Why are you worried about them, anyway?" Sam asked.
"So I've been thinking about what to do next, and I need all of your help. It's a bit dangerous, a bit risky, but we're all used to that. And if it works it'll be totally worth it. Here's what we'll do…"
The new carving seemed harder than the last two. Karl had only begun carving the Crownlands when he finished explaining his plan.
Silence, for nobody knew what to say.
Finally Klem pointed at the piece of wood. "What does that have to do with the plan?"
"Nothing." The Blackwater Bay slowly took shape in Karl's hands. "It's just a gift for dad. Think he might need it by the time we're done."
"Why should they even let us in?" Sam asked, "If they know who we are, they would try to kill us before we even made it past the walls. If they don't, who would care about a bunch of wannabe bards?"
"Because we'll be making music they've never heard before! Music that will blow them away!" Karl snickered. "And if they don't, we'll just deal with it then. Whatever happens, we have got a fuckload of guns, and they have not."
"I dunno…" Josh mumbled. "Maybe we should ask Maggie first."
"We will! But I'll talk to Eugene first to see if he has anything up his sleeve. Pack your instruments and some clothes, and meet outside the dining hall at sunset. Be there or be square."
Karl put down his carving knife long after his companions had left the house. The crude 'table' of Westeros did not have soaring mountains or deep rivers, as Maester Luwin said the one at Dragonstone did, and it was only large enough to fit a teapot. But Karl thought his father would like it very much, as well as the letter he hastily left in Lord Grimes' room.
"What's that?" Arya asked, pointing at what seemed to be an iron quill.
"Oh, this? It's a pen. You can have mine." Karl handed her the iron quill and a thick tome. "Got at least half a dozen of these, and we can scavenge more. You can have this too. It's a very long list of the words we use and their meaning, arranged by letter, so you don't have to guess anymore."
Before visiting Eugene, they went to another house.
"Bubba! Bubba!" A young girl leapt from a woman's arms and raced towards Karl. She looked like a small Karl, except she had two brown eyes instead of his blue one.
"Judy!" Karl swept the girl into a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek. "Were you good when I was away?"
"You'll be staying, won't you?" the woman asked. "Judy misses you. She hasn't slept well since you, Rick and Andrea all left."
"Can't." Was Karl crying? Arya thought he was for a moment, but when he turned around she saw it was just the blue in his eye. "Not until our enemies are dealt with. Then Judy and I will build a big red castle with red Legos, won't we, Judy?" He lightly pinched his sister's cheek. Did Jon hug her like this when she was as young as Judith? Arya remembered he did before she went south with Father and he went north to join the Watch. If only they all had stayed...
"Bye." Karl let go and almost ran out of the house, slamming the door on his way out.
Eugene's workshop was only a few houses further down the street. The man was now dressed in an oil-soaked coat with a strange contraption over his eye. "Maggie said you two would probably drop by. Here to see the guns?"
Karl and Arya nodded at the same time.
Eugene headed over to a rack full of guns, and picked one just like what Ser Wylis and his men used. "This is a matchlock musket. First we light this match -" He drew a lighter not unlike the ones given to Sandor and Ser Raynald. After spinning the wheel thrice, a small flame finally erupted from the bottle and he placed it against a piece of rope. "- then fasten the cord here. We pour some powder into this pan and close it, a bit more down the barrel…"
Half a minute later, he finally brought the gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. This time Arya remembered to cover her ears just before the thundering.
"Reloading would take a long time," Karl observed after the smoke had cleared.
"Probably around half a minute. Maybe a bit more if the soldier isn't trained well, a bit less if they're experienced. So," Eugene now took a short sword and mounted it under the gun, turning it into a spear. "We need a blade on the gun in case enemies get too close before we can fire another shot. Or the volley gun, if there are too many of them."
The second gun looked nothing like the first, much less Karl's pistol. A row of metal pipes were set in front of a box mounted on a small carriage. "Cover your ears and stand upwind, kids, if you want to keep your hearing afterwards."
Arya had barely managed to cover her ears when the carriage erupted. Plume after plume of smoke spewed out as the pipes roared. When the massive cloud of smoke had finally cleared, Arya could see the many holes punched through the target. Two other Alexandrians fiddled with the box at the back of the gun. Then the gun let loose another volley, shredding the target even more.
If only the Alexandrians had come earlier! With their new weapons, the direwolf banner she had so desperately saved would be flying, whole and untattered, above King's Landing now. And Arya would be feasting back at Winterfell with her mother and brother. Sansa too, as long as she didn't call Arya horseface again. Karl might have even been there, for surely Robb would have made her new friend's father Lord of Harrenhal for the Alexandrians' efforts. But Robb and mother were dead, Sansa a hostage at King's Landing. Only Jon Snow lay free from the lion's claws - for now, guarding the realms of Men at the Wall. And what few friends Arya had were scattered to the four winds.
"How many new guns do we have?" Karl asked, staring at the two weapons.
"Thirty matchlocks. Heath is already teaching Wylis and his Northmen how to use them. If Rick's letting even Saviors serve in the militia now, I don't see him banning the natives from doing so too. As for volley guns, we've only got this one at the moment."
"Can I come round and borrow the volley gun tonight?" Karl interrupted. "I'll need it for two weeks or so."
"What for?"
"To seek vengeance for Arya's family," Karl announced. "To make sure the Lannisters can't threaten us, at least not anytime soon. To get the port on the coast that we really need. I think Dad's missing an opportunity to show the people of Westeros how we Alexandrians treat tyrants and invaders."
An Alexandrian with a peg leg entered the room. "And what do you suggest?" He looked straight into Arya's eyes. "Oh, is this your friend the Northern princess we've been hearing about?"
"Yes. She's Arya Stark, my guest and friend. Anyway we shouldn't sit and wait to let the Lannisters decide when to attack, Heath. We already know what they would want. Our lands, our people, our stuff, just like Negan's men. We need to raid them first."
Heath wasn't convinced by Karl's rhetoric. "Your father is smart enough not to abandon our defensive advantage and let them come to us. Not to mention that we would need a much larger army to besiege them at their capital…"
"I don't need an army." Karl rested one foot on the volley gun. "I need twenty good men."
The sun was fast setting when they were back in the great hall.
"At least you have the courtesy to ask before trying to make off with half of our ammunition." Maggie wasn't smiling as much this time. Michonne pretended to write something in her book with her 'pen' every now and then.
"Not half. Just the strange calibers and the muskets as well. I'm not trying to fight the whole Lannister army," Karl clarified.
Arya wondered why the two were so unfriendly towards Karl's idea. Sure, it wasn't as good as anything Robb would have come up with, but nobody came close to Robb when it came to planning. Besides, it wouldn't take Robb's victories to cross a few more names off Arya's list. She knew the way in, Karl knew how to use the guns, and she also knew the way back out.
Maggie grabbed the piece of paper and read it again. "I honestly can't tell the difference between this and fighting all the Lannisters. Just because it works on paper doesn't mean it works when you actually try it out. Remember that time when you tried to raid the Sanctuary by yourself in the war? How did that work out?"
Karl's face was as red as the setting sun outside. "This won't be a one way mission, I swear. And I'm bringing more guns. More men, who will fight for Alexandria, to keep our homes safe. Just like you guys. Just like dad."
"More men? Tell me, Karl, how many men are there actually on this list? Boys, girls. Maybe a woman or two, I'll give you that." As the table roared in laughter, Maggie placed the plan on the table. "Michonne, do you think this can actually work?"
"Probably not all of it. But you know Karl. Good luck stopping him from leaving unless we lock him up, and Negan's using the only cell we have right now." Michonne drew her iron quill and circled a few lines on the map. "This is as far as you will go. If anything goes wrong, your team will pull back to the ship and sail back to Alexandria immediately. Your lives and our equipment is far more important than you winning this one. The last thing we need is you ending up dead or taken hostage."
"Mich, I thought you were supposed to be backing me up?" If Maggie's looks could kill, Michonne would be dead by now. "Any Alexandrian would be bad enough, but Karl is Rick's son. If we lose him, Rick-"
"I won't lose, and you won't lose me. Even if things don't work out, Arya knows a secret way out of the Red Keep. At least we can cause enough chaos to buy time for Eugene's ammo factory. I heard people say at the Inn that there are fifty thousand Lannister and Tyrell soldiers in the crownlands. If we just follow Dad's plan, will we even have fifty thousand bullets if they come early?"
"We're done talking. Jesus, Michonne, we'll talk in private. Karl, go have dinner with Arya and your friends."
"But-"
"I said the conversation is over." Maggie rose from her chair. "I'm sure her highness is pretty hungry."
"If you think this is the best way to skip school, it is the exact opposite," Michonne added with a twinkle in her eyes.
Karl stormed out of the great hall, huffing and puffing. Arya followed. She was sure his plan could work. Even if things went wrong, chances were that a few more names could be crossed off Arya's list. Would Maggie give him the guns? Even if she didn't, Eugene had still lent them the volley guns and the muskets. She hoped those would be enough for Karl.
While other Alexandrians dined in their homes or at their Great Hall, Arya had dinner with Karl and his friends under the stars. The Alexandrians had this strange dish called a 'burger', where a slice of meat and a few pieces of cabbage were slapped between two round pieces of bread.
"You like'em?" One of Karl's friends asked. Mikey, if she remembered his name. "I mean, you like'em, your highness? We have pasta some nights too."
Arya wolfed down her burger. "Call me Arya. Or Arry. And I'll be Harry when we're at King's Landing."
"Princess Arya. Or Princess Arry. Princess Harry would be fine too," Karl joked. Arya tried not to laugh when her mouth was full of burger. She barely succeeded, but a few of Karl's friends were not so fortunate. A small piece of meat nearly hit her on the forehead.
Arya certainly didn't feel like a princess. But Sansa would be Queen in the North when they get her back, and even if she didn't make Arya a proper princess, the nobles would do so before long. She'd have to dance, she'd have to sew, and she'd have to marry another lord or prince… Would they try to make her marry Karl? He's the son of Alexandria's leader, after all, and it was the Alexandrians who were winning battle after battle. She wrinkled her nose. She was fine if people forgot to call her princess for now.
Sitting around a small campfire, Karl's friends had so many questions to ask her. Is Winterfell really cold? How many brothers and sisters do you have? Why does your family have your own flag? Is Joffrey really that much of a dick? She answered as best as she could while wolfing down her burger, but for every one she answered, two took its place. Arya was about to go find an even quieter place to eat, when Michonne appeared with books in her hands.
"The Providence is ready, and it seems you already have a small crew. Eugene says you can have the volley gun, and the Northmen can continue borrowing the muskets. You guys have all the ammunition you need."
"Does this mean we get to go?" Karl's words tumbled over each other. "What did Maggie say?"
"She asked you not to be so stupid this time. Andrea wasn't too happy either, but she isn't going to stop you. As for me-" Michonne dusted the books' covers one by one before placing them in Karl's outstretched hand. "This one is The Prince. The one after it is The Wealth of Nations. And while you shouldn't agree with everything written in the Leviathan, I think it's still worth a read. Read these books when you have time, okay? There will be more later." She patted Karl on his shoulder. "Eugene says you might not have enough time to spare if you return to Oceanside. Take your friends and the Northmen east until you hit the lake. The Providence should be waiting for you there. Now go!"
"Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei," Arya whispered as they marched east through the lonely night. East, where the sun would rise a few hours later. "Dunsen, and Raff the Sweetling." She would have said The Hound, but maybe he should live if he took several people off the list.
And what then? Even if Karl's plan worked, Joffrey's and Ilyn's blood would not be enough to pay for Father's death, nor for Robb's, nor all the men who marched south and never came home. Then what's left of the Lannisters will crown Tommen where they took Father's head, and armies will march north to war against Sansa's kingdom for years to come.
"The Seven Kingdoms, and the Iron Throne."
...
...
"Wow."
Carl once thought he would never see a proper city again. Not after his world had ended when the dead rose to devour the living. But here he was, at the docks of the largest city of the Seven Kingdoms, its harbour packed full of ships. The Providence may have been of a strange design, but it had sails, and it looked no odder than the swan-prowed ship or the purple sailed galleys that lay nearby.
King's Landing stretched on and on and on, right towards the edge of the horizon, and on one tall hill nearby was a massive castle. The Red Keep, Carl reminded himself, with its seven tall towers. Everything here came in sevens, for the southern Westerosi and the Manderlys worshipped the Faith of the Seven. But sightseeing would have to come later… if they succeeded.
The Northmen and a few Alexandrians remained on the boat. When the commotion at the Red Keep began, the northmen were to quickly take the River Gate, or at least the docks and all the goods that lay within. Not an easy task for only thirty or so men, even when the Gold Cloaks would be distracted, but the Northmen now had muskets of their own courtesy of Eugene.
Meanwhile the rest of the Alexandrian 'musicians' set themselves up at Fishmonger's Square, playing "Take me Home, Country Roads" for all of Westeros to hear. Their strange music swiftly attracted a large crowd – and the River Gate's commander himself.
"You're blocking the road," the commander growled. "Beggars like you need to clear the way for honest folk."
"We're just good folks here trying to make a living," Carl replied, "Tell you what, I'll leave you ten silver stags if you leave us alone." Carl now leaned closer to the officer. "And five stones of spices if you recommend us to His Grace. The crowd likes our music. There's no reason His Grace wouldn't too."
Those spices proved to be a worthy investment. "Play The Rains of Castamere," Carl ordered, once the banners of Lannister and Baratheon were spotted in the distance. The boy himself sang the song even as the ensemble began a staccato rendition of the Lannister motif. "And so he spoke, and so he spoke, the Lord of…"
"Never knew you could sing so well," Arya joked, earning an elbow in the ribs from Carl. But even this did little to dispel the now mounting tension, with the royal entourage fast approaching.
Arya knelt first, in the back row, so that it would be harder for the Lannisters to spot her. Then the ensemble, after playing the last few notes. Finally Carl himself went down on one knee. Things had worked differently in the old world, but in this medieval-like new world, the smallfolk and even nobles knelt to kings and emperors. Carl didn't know if he was doing this correctly, but better safe than sorry.
Clad in his fancy doublet, as if nobody else would know he were the king otherwise, His Grace King Joffrey stopped one arm's length away from Carl. Next to him was a balding midde-aged nobleman with calculating green eyes. It had to be Lord Tywin Lannister, the King's grandfather. Not as scary as Negan, Karl decided.
"You seem to have a good voice, and all these people here seem to like your musicians. What is your name?" said the King.
"I'm… I'm Charles, Charles Winters, Your Grace. My friends call me Charlie. They say your wedding is tomorrow, so I… I'd thought I'd take my friends – the Twenty Good Men - to King's Landing and earn a few gold, wh… what with so many people here, all those princes and princesses and lords and ladies and stuff. But I never thought Your Grace would appreciate our music!" These were the words Carl stuttered, yet he knew that there was no way he could disguise his foreign accent, try as he might.
"Charles. What a strange name," the King remarked. And sure enough, Joffrey's next question was a simple "Where are you from?". The boy king was now 'subtly' glaring at Arya. Did he recognise her despite the disguise?
"Oh, that's just Harry, my childhood friend and assistant. I've been travelling for a lot of my life, Your Grace, so much that I don't really know where I should be from. But my ancestors came from Asshai. Might even have been a lord or two, but my family has since fallen on hard times." They say the best lies are shrouded in a grain of truth, and Carl wanted to lie as little as possible.
Yet Carl flinched as Lord Tywin slightly raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? But I suppose it doesn't matter. His Grace likes your music, and the Iron Throne will pay you one hundred gold dragons to perform before the wedding feast tomorrow. You can even stay for the feast if it is to your liking. There's always room for a few more… guests."
"Thank you, mi'l… my lord. I hope the music tomorrow is to your liking."
...
The boy-king slouched on the Iron Throne.
"So! Our enemies and traitors have decided to serve their heads to me on a platter! But grandfather, why not arrest them at the market?"
"There were too many smallfolk nearby, not all friendly to us, and we were in too small of numbers to guarantee a capture. The crowded streets would have allowed them to escape, like as not. It would also be unwise to give smallfolk ideas prior to the King's wedding. Besides," Tywin Lannister lectured his grandson, "there's another prize to be had besides the younger Stark girl. Did you miss the one eyed boy, black of hair? And if the news from Darry is true, this boy is dangerous."
"The one whom they said killed Ser Gregor in single combat? A one eyed cripple? If that's him, I swear… I swear to the Gods, I'll pluck his remaining eye out. And cut his tongue out too, so the whole realm can see what happens to such outlaws who dare defy the Iron Throne. They said the bandits at the God's Eye use magic to slay thousands at once from afar."
"Ridiculous." Tywin scoffed. "What mad stories will you have me believing next? Others from beyond the Wall? Dragons from the east? A King should be above such chatter. Thousands were slain, that much is true. But deserting soldiers see all sorts of things, especially when keeping their head on their body rests on such fanciful tales."
"It's not just chatter!" Joffrey exclaimed. "A lot of our surviving captains told the same tales. Of quick-loosing crossbows that loosed small metal bolts. Surely not all of them are lying?"
"Perhaps they are right. But whoever our enemies are, they have become overconfident if they think this fool plan will have succes. We are on the back foot at the moment, it is true. Word has also arrived yesterday that our siege of Riverrun has been broken, with no news of Ser Daven's whereabouts. With two armies destroyed, we no longer control the lands between Harrenhal and the Trident. And mind you, the Tyrells have yet to suffer many losses in this war. Their presence in the capital grows stronger by the day. But now the enemy has played right into our hands."
"Ser Addam," Tywin now addressed the Commander of the Gold Cloaks. "Have your men search them before they enter the Red Keep. If they bear arms, especially crossbows of any kind, seize them and throw them into the Black Cells. If not, however, let them perform in the throne room before tonight's feast, but do not let them approach the guest tables. They may have brought poison, or snuck daggers past your Gold Cloaks. Once they have finished playing their little songs, have our own Westermen seize them in front of all the guests. The Seven Kingdoms shall have no more rumors of Arya Stark running amok, and the Queen of Thorns will be reminded of who's actually in charge of King's Landing. When the wedding celebrations are over, we will march on the God's Eye, if Frey had not dealt with them by then."
Joffrey smirked as his grandfather and Hand of the King took his leave. What could possibly go wrong?
...
Carl and Arya walked side by side along the docks, heading back to the Providence for dinner. The last supper, Carl thought grimly, if shit hits our side of the fan tomorrow.
"What if they find out who we are?" Through her rough tunic, Arya's right hand was now brushing against Needle's hilt. "Or already did? I think Joffrey recognized me, Carl, he was staring hard at me earlier. He knows what I look like, and I don't think my short hair and rough-spun clothes fooled him."
Carl chuckled. "Maybe, maybe not, but it won't make a difference anyway. You'll have to leave your sword behind though. They're definitely gonna be searching us at the entrance even if there ain't a trap."
"What if they decide to attack us right at the gate?"
"Then we fight them.. Guns don't become useless at close range. It might make things harder though." Carl made a face. "Some of our targets will probably escape, but we've talked about the backup plan a few times already. We'll be fine, Arya," Carl reassured her as the tall ship now loomed in front of them.
Then it was a light dinner, and waiting, waiting for the new year - the year three hundred after Aegon's Conquest if one asked the Westerosi, or twenty-eighteen of the Common Era if one asked the Alexandrians. But there would be no celebrations until sunrise. No New Years' fireworks, for the Westerosi were yet to discover gunpowder, and after the Battle of Blackwater Bay few in King's Landing had taste for further explosions. Nor would there be fireworks in Alexandria. What little flares and rockets they had were jealously reserved for desperate occasions, and Eugene's new rockets were still drawings on engineering paper.
But there might be a proper light's show, or even fireworks, in a year or two. Just like the ones Mom and Dad took me to when I was just a little kid. Carl would win this battle, just like the ones before. For himself, for Dad, Andrea and Judith, and for the Alexandrians. For the Westerosi, for the Northmen, for Wylis and Sandor. For Arya.
Carl, his twenty Alexandrians, and Arya arrived at the Red Keep just before noon on New Year's Day. Even as Joffrey and Margaery exchanged their vows at the Sept of Baelor, Carl and Arya exchanged glances as two Gold Cloaks roughly patted them down. True to her word, Arya didn't bring Needle, while Carl had brought his trusty Beretta pistol, a lighter, and a Marlin lever-action carbine. Opting for more firepower, the other twenty Alexandrians were all armed with assault rifles. Seeing no blade, the guards let the guns through along with all the other instrumental cases.
"That one's called the volley'un," Carl explained to two Gold Cloaks, as the heavy carriage-mounted piece was pulled up Aegon's High Hill by two mules. "Ever heard one before?" One of the guards squinted. "Is it like one of them... organs from Braavos that I've heard about?"
"Similar, but much louder. You'll hear it roar in just a bit."
Carl's mouth fell wide open as he stepped inside the throne room. A gigantic pile of metal lay on the far end, dozens of steps leading up to a mountain of blades. "Ever seen the Iron Throne before?" one of the Gold Cloaks asked. "Bet'chu haven't, village boy. His Grace will be listening all the way up there before dining at the table on the dias along with important guests. Other lords and ladies shall feast at the tables below. You and your fiddlers will play your little songs right in front of the dais."
"And where will we eat after we're done playing?" Carl asked.
"I wasn't told. Mayhaps with the servants, but surely not in the throne room. Lords and ladies only."
The throne room's doors opened, and an auburn-haired lady entered the hall with a dwarf half her size and without much of a nose. "That's my sister Sansa," Arya whispered. "And Tyrion Lannister, the Imp."
Fortunately, the pair appeared rather interested in the strange ensemble. Sansa's eyes suddenly widened as they walked towards the performers. Excusing herself from her new husband, she went in for a closer look and Carl went forth to meet her.
"My lady Sansa," the boy bowed, his whispers silent beyond a few paces away. "Listen carefully. Yes, that's Arya and the Lannisters are fucked. When you see smoke and hear loud bangs, pull your husband under the table and stay right there. If you two run, you will die," Carl advised as Sansa umm and ahhed over the Volley Gun. "Now shoo," he said as the clop-clap-clop of hoofbeats grew louder and louder.
Dressed in very fancy clothing, the King and his wife rode into their throne room on their white horses, several kids throwing rose petals before them. So they do weddings the same way too. Carl had volunteered to be Uncle Jeff's flower-boy once, when the man actually got married of course. That day never came.
Most of the guests were seated after a few minutes, and King Jerk stood up, wineglass in hand. "Let the cups be filled! To my wife the queen!"
"Margaery! Margaery! Margaery!" The hall shrieked. "To the queen!"
Joffrey waved his hand as though he was a magician, and sure enough the ruckus quickly quieted down. Now Tywin himself stood up from his seat at the dais. "My lords, my ladies. How about some music before the feast begins? His Grace and I have stumbled across some interesting musicians yesterday, who came here all the way from Asshai. Charlie Winters and his Twenty Good Men will serve as today's main entertainment!"
"They didn't offer us bread and salt," Arya whispered.
Carl calmly lifted his carbine. "Even better this way."
The music began noisily, a hodgepodge of swirling violins and blaring trumpets. Carl raised his carbine up, then jerked it down, and raised it up again, signaling the tempo for the Twenty Good Men. The other instructions were clear. Follow the beat, and remember. Do not shoot until the climax.
"… the traitor Robb Stark suddenly appears at the Whispering Wood! Ferocious wolves, doing battle against the valiant lions! The lions fight bravely yet, alas, there are too many wolves!" Carl yelled as the trumpets sounded out a snippet from La Marseilles, cymbals clashing furiously instead of the firing of guns. That would be for the 1812 Overture's finale, of course.
"Now the bells are tolling for Lord Tywin's salvation of this city, as Stannis flees with his tail between his legs!"
"Bit by bit, the Lion and the Rose drive back the false kings and their traitor followers!"
"Robb's hosts turn into wolves at Lord Frey's wedding feast, violating guest right. This is unacceptable, and needs to be punished! The Wolves are slaughtered like rabid dogs!"
"Rejoice, for the traitor Robb is dead!" The music crescendoed louder, but was much, much slower now. "But one she-wolf remains, and she is out for vengeance." As he spoke, Carl slowly inched towards Arya, his lips slowly curling to a slight smile.
The music suddenly stopped as Carl lowered his carbine, right at the last ti-la-so-fa before the finale. "Robb Stark sends his regards..."
Except for a few dropped cups, and the swift clattering of armoured feet on marbled floor tiles, the room was totally silent now.
"…And Winters is here." Carl's smile widened to a vicious grin. He flipped open his lighter and lit the volley gun's fuse.