Argella

The outriders came upon them an hour from the Green Fork, as the wayn was slogging down a muddy road.

"Riders from the Twins, my lady," Ser Trent Wensington warned her as the three spurred toward them,; a knight and two mail- clad swordsmen, all mounted on fast palfreys. The captain of her guard lifted raised a hand, and her party came to a slow stop behind her.

Argella was at the head of her convoy mounted on her courser dressed in her hardened boiled leathers, and she was wearing her bow and arrows at her back. Beside her Brienne rode beside her, followed and the maid of Tarth wasore her garbed in her armour — a cobalt blue as rich and deep as her eyes — armor like Ser Trent and the other male knights in her party were, garbed in her cobalt blue armour as rich and deep as her eyes. She had slung her helmet from her saddle to allow the air grace her face. So long as she kept the helm off, one could see it was her beneath the armour, but with the helmet one could not see the difference between her and any other knight from her party. Argella herself wore boiled leather and oiled mail. This far in the north she didn't expect any battles to be fought, though after Springveld she couldn't bring herself to go anywhere unprepared.

The riders split and circled them for a look before they came up close. Argella stayed away from them and waited patiently on their pleasurefor them to come to her. The knight bore spear and sword, while the swordsmen carried swords and bows of their own. The badges on their jerkins were smaller versions of the sigil sewn on the knight's surcoat:; a black pitchfork on a golden bar, upon a russet field. A Haigh, she knew at once, and sworn to the Freys of the Crossing.

Argella had thought of getting to the North without encountering the Twins, however the crossing at the Trident and the Kingsroad had been controlled by Aegon Targaryen then when they had started the journey north — before her husband had reclaimed them —. aAnd so the only way they had was through to the lands of Lord Walder Frey. And sShe did not look forward to it.

She might have risked crossing the Green fork Fork rather than going through the castle, but the river ran swift and deep here, and the crossings that might be accessible in the summer had been all but lost now with to the autumn rains according to her guides. Argella would have rather swam across if it meant not gazing upon Walder Frey's accusing eyes, or the eyes of his daughters, but that would cause more ill than good with all her knights and horses behind her that would only cause more trouble than good.

The knight looked at the golden banner that hunghanging heavily from the ebony staff held by one of her guardsmen. "Your Ggrace," the knight said at once he recognised who she was. "You are a sight forto sore eyes. We had been hoping to see you here for some times ever since Lord Hoster sent word that you were traveling to the North through the Crossing." He paid no little attention to any of her party, looking long and hard at Brienne as if she were an Other.

"It is my pleasure to meet you as well, sser...?" Argella looked at the man with curious eyes.

The knight stiffened in his saddle and sat up straight. He put his mailed fist over his chest. "Ser Donnel Haigh, if it pleases you." The pitchfork knight gave a little awkward bow from atop histhe saddlehorse. His garron shifted a little, and he almost fell wound face first into the mud from the back of the horse before he fumbled at the reigns and managedto to hold onto it. That would have been a sight to see, a pitchfork in the mud. Argella giggled and Ser Donnell's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"How did you know we were coming by?" Argella asked him. "I didn't send any letter."

"My lady has it right," Donnel said. "I must apologise that we are not your escort. Ser Ryman has command of these lands south of the Green Fork. We are on our way to the morning patrol tTo keep the Frey lands safe from any foes. We are on our way to the morning patrol."

Argella wondered how much their patrol was worth. She had not forgotten Springveld and the destruction the outlaws had brought over the village. She would want to have a talk with this Ryman Frey. If he was in charge withof protecting the lands south of the Green Fork, then it would have been his duty to do what was right about Springveld as well.

"Don't let us hold you back from your duties, ser," Argella told them,. "aAnd do keep your eyes open during the patrol."

Ser Donnel gaped at her like a fumbling fish at the end of a fisherman's hook, but he simply bowed his head.

She waved them down the road. "Go on with you, then."

"Aye, your grace,." Donnel Haigh said, before he muttered a quick, angry word at his companions, and they were off once again. As the outriders went riding off, Argella and her party resumed their weary trek once again.

Evenfall found them still trudging toward the Green Fork and Lord Frey's twin castles. "I am almost there," Argella thought. She knew she ought not to feel anything about it, but somehow her belly was all knotted up tightly. Somehow Crossing somehow the Twins this proved to toughest part of the journey, to cross the Twins,. aAnd Argella didn't know why,, or maybe perhaps she did. She was had been told that Walder Frey had fancied taking a toll off from Andrew by wedding a daughter to the kKing in return for allowing him to pass south. She didn't know why that had never happened though. If that had happened, the Frey maiden would be on her way to Winterfell now, and she would still be in Storm's End. Last night she'd had a bad dream, where she saw just that. She could remember what she'd dreamed of clearly, of seeing her husband wed another woman. Argella had no qualms about with it —. iIf anything she would have even preferred it instead. So, she was actually surprised why it felt like a bad dream, but the feeling had lingered all day. It had taken half her strength to finally build up the courage to get past the dream. She had come a long way from her home. This was nothing but another castle between her and her journey.

The road had been running mostly northwest, but now it turned due west between an apple orchard and a field of drowned corn beaten down by the rain. They passed the last of the apple trees and crested a rise, and the castles, river, and camps all appeared all at once.

They came upon Ser Ryman's camp before they came upon the castle. The camp was filled with horses and as much many as two hundred men, most of them sitting around wooden crates, dicing and drinking.

"This is a poorly set up camp," Argella observed as soon as she saw it. The maid of Tarth nodded in agreement.

The sound of the river was louder here as they closed in towards the Green Fork. The angry rumbling of the river rolled across the camp. The paths between the cookfires were raw brown mud, mixed with horse dung and torn up by hooves and boots alike. Everywhere Argella saw the twin towers of House Frey displayed on shield and banners, blue on grey, along with the arms of lesser Houses sworn to the Lord of the Crossing: the heron of Erenford, the pitchfork of Haigh, Lord Charlton's three sprigs of mistletoe. Her arrival did not go unnoticed —. Around her she glimpsed the faces of men all staring all around herat her.

Ryman Frey's great rectangular pavilion was the largest in the camp; its grey canvas walls were made of sewn squares to resemble stonework, and its two peaks evoked the Twins. Inside, Ser Ryman was enjoying some entertainment. The sound of a woman's drunken laughter drifted from within the tent, mingled with the strains of a wood harp and a singer's voice. "I shall deal with you before I treat with your father, ser," Argella thought. Another one of the Freys stood before his own modest tent, talking with two men-at-arms. His shield bore the arms of House Frey with the colors reversed, and a red bend sinister across the towers. "A bastard," she realizsed. When he saw Argella, he paused and dismissed his companions at once. Argella held his gaze as she passed him, wondering if he knew who she was. If he did the man showed nothing of it, as he simply stood and stared at her as if she was some lady who insulted him by refusing his wedding offer.

Two spearmen were posted at the entrance of Ser Ryman's camp. Argella hopped down from the back of her horse. "Where is Ser Ryman?" she asked them. "I have come to meet him."

"Ser Ryman is indisposed," one told Argella. "No one is to meet him without his leave."

Brienne stepped forward. "Do you know who you are talking to, ser?" The man frowned at Brienne and then looked at Argella before looking above to see the crowned stag and direwolf flying from the standards behind her. The spearmen looked at each other. "I'll go get him, Yyour Ggrace."

One of them slipped behind the flap of the tent and came out after a minute. Ser Ryman came stomping from the tent in company with a straw-haired slattern as drunk as he was.

This Frey was a thickset man with a broad face, small eyes, and a soft fleshy set of chins. He was so round and so drunk that he couldn't even kneel properly. Argella suspected that he wouldn't be able to get up if he went down to one knee, — that is if he even managed to do it without falling down upon his face.

Ser Ryman found his voice after a moment. "Your graceGrace," he said, bowing his head instead. His breath stank of wine and onions.

"It seems as if I have interrupted you in the middle of something important, ser.," Argella said eyed at Ser Ryman's whore.

The fat Frey smiled sheepishly. "Your grace, I-"

Argella stopped him with a flick of her finger. "I came here to see how good the defensce of these lands isare going?" She looked around at the armed men who'd gathered around Frey. "I was told that you are in charge of the defensce of the lands south of the river."

Ser Raymun smiled, perhaps proud of the position Argella thought. "I am, yYour Ggrace," he said,. "aAnd you have nothing reason to worry about. No Targaryen scum will come anywhere close to these lands, not while I —, Ser Raymun Frey — amis in command."

Argella nodded, amused at his false sense of false judgementpride. The man was not just a fool, but a proud fool it seemed,. aAnd there was never a worse mix than that. "Tell me ser, does the village of Springveld come under your father's domains?"

Ryman Frey squinted his eyes as he thought hard. Then he made a sound that might have been a laugh. "My father rules over huge swathes of land your Your graceGrace. It is too hard to remember every village that comes under it. There must be at least a dozen villages under the name of Springveld, I'll warrant."

Argella hit him. It was a full- faced forced blow delivered with her right hand. The force of it sent Ser Ryman's head jerking backwards. "You have a large form, ser. I only hit you in your cheek, such a small space of skin that you'd have no doubt missed it. You did miss it, did you not?"

The Frey soldiers of Ryman were either very brave or very foolish as they almost drew their blades. Her own men bared their steel, Ser Trent foremost among them. "Uh-huhNo," he said placing a shielding hand in front of her, "it'd be a shame to cut down our own allies, ser,. bBut if you presume to threaten my queen, I willould have no choice but to send you all back to your father as corpses."" Ser Trent pointed his sword at Ryman. ""The question now is, will I need to step over your corpse on my way to the North?""

""She hit me,"" Ryman Frey complained, shaking in anger.

""She is your queen, ser,"" Ser Trent said. ""Now tell your men to back off, or you'll be the first one to die here."

Ryman looked as if he was ready to burst into tears. His soldiers took a looked at her escort and stayed their swords at where they were. Only the bastard man she'd seen earlier had not drawn his sword, Argella saw,. bBut his silence was more dangerous than the blustering of Ryman Frey and the swords of his entire army.

Frey rubbed his cheek where she had hit him and shrunk away from her when he saw no choice chance of victory. ""Your Ggrace, I-""

""You have a fat head, Ser Ryman, and a thick neck as well. Unfortunately, you are not so blessed with your brain. It's better to have it off with such an empty head."

Ryman Frey went to his knees. "I have done nothing— . . ."

"B. . . but drink and whore. I know."

"You can't— . . ."

"I would keep quiet if I were you,." Argella said as she watched the man turn white. A sot, a fool, and a craven. "The Freys are done if this one gets to becomes the Lord of the Crossing," she thought.. "You are dismissed, ser."

"Dismissed?"

"You heard me. If I were you, I would give the command to someone else and crawl back into the Twins before I further dishonoured myself." Argella turned from Ser Ryman towards Trent. "I have changed my mind. We are moving onward from here."

And tThey didn't stay long in the Twins afterwards. Argella led them out of the castle as soon as possible, staying only so long enoughas to cross it. They moved onto toward the Nnorth in the gloom of night,. aA fine drizzle showerinhed down upon them during the night.

They squished over wet clay and torn grass, out of the light and back into the gloom.

They splashed past rows of sodden trees of brown and red, their trunks wet from the rain and their leaves thea deep reddish hue of autumn. By the next morning they had left the castle and Ryman's camp long behind them, but the rain followed them all the way up until they reached the Neck. By then the rainfall had trickled down to a gentle spray, almost a fine mist.

The banners carried by her party hung heavy and limp from their standards, and Argella was forced to wear a hooded cloak too shield herself from the rain,. butAnd for good reason:. tThese northern rains were much harsher and colder than those in the south.

It was a grey day, damp and misty, when they finally reached the Neck. The wind was from the north, moist as a kiss. The ruins of Moat Cailin were visible in the distance, threaded through with wisps of morning mist. Her horse moved toward them at a walk, her hooves making faint wet squelching sounds as they pulled free of the grey-green muck.

The road soon turned into a causeway made of lumber and large moss- covered rocks and soft mud. To the either side, the causeway was surrounded by swamps and bogs of the Neck, and it was infested with serpents and, lizard lions. And sShe saw some crannogmean with their poisoned arrows positioned in the higher branches of the distant trees. They were hidden well, but Argella had an archer's eyes, and she missed nothing.

"Shake out the banners of my husband," Argella told her men. "We are being watched. They should know who we actually are."

Ser Trent looked around the swamp, looking for any dangers. When he found none, he turned to her. Argella pointed out the branch that was not a part of the tree. Trent Wensington gave a command and the guardsman who bore her husband's direwolf banner went in front of them, shaking the tall pinewood staff to rouse the wet silk back to life.

"Andrew would have come this way as well," she thought. "Only he had marched south and I'm going in the opposite direction." It was a sudden thought, to be reminded of him.

When he had come this way, his army would have followed closely behind him, the great host of the Nnorth riding to war beneath the grey-and-white banners of House Stark. Argella rode alone now, marching with a few friends of her own into some unknown kingdom which now belongs belonged in part to her. She didn't know how the northerners expected to see their new qQueen. Maybe in a carriage… . . . iInstead she was mounted on her courser, swift and smooth. She had always preferred to ride a horse instead of being cooped up into a wheelhouse,. Aand if the people whom she is was now supposed to rule now canouldn''t accept that, then it was their problem.

The air was wet and heavy, and shallow pools of water dotted the ground. Argella picked her way between them carefully, following the remnants of the long- forgotten road of the causeway laid down across the soft ground and slippery rocks. Where once the mighty curtain wall had stood during the reign of Andrew's father, only scattered stones remained, blocks of black basalt so large it must once have taken a hundred men to hoist them into place. Another testament toof the dragon's wroth. Some of the stones had sunk so deeply into the bog that only a corner showed; others laidy strewn about like some god's abandoned toys, cracked and crumbling, spotted with lichen. Last night's rain had left the huge stones wet and glistening, and the morning sunlight made them look as if they were coated in some fine black oil.

Beyond stood the towers.

The tower to her left leaned as if it were about to collapse, as if it was going to fall over at any momenttime. The tower to her right thrust into the sky as straight as a spear, but its shattered top was open to the wind and rain. The one in the center was the biggest of the three, and it was in the commanding position from where the entire stronghold could be viewed. Tall, squat, and wide, it was the largest of the three, slimy with moss, a gnarled tree growing sideways from the stones of its northern side, fragments of broken wall still standing to the east and west. There seemed to be a garrison left in each of the towers. Argella saw some men moving up in the towers. She could see the banners snapping bravely in the brisk northern wind,. tThe direwolf of House Stark once again flying proudly in the wind.

As her party creeped slowly closer to the walls, Argella realizsed that they were being watched:. sShe could feel the eyes upon her. When she looked up, she caught a glimpse of pale faces peering from behind the battlements of the tower at the centrer, and through the broken masonry that crowned the tower to her left, where legend said the children of the forest had once called down the hammer of the waters to break the lands of Westeros in two. Whether or not the gods had played a role in it or not, but the northmen had surely used the swamp to form an effective barrier against any foe. The only dry road through the Neck was the causeway, and the towers of Moat Cailin plugged its northern end like a cork in a bottle. The road was narrow, the ruins so positioned that any enemy coming up from the south must pass beneath and between them. To assault any of the three towers, an attacker must expose his back to arrows from the other two, whilst climbing damp stone walls festooned with streamers of slimy white ghostskin. The swampy ground beyond the causeway was impassable, an endless morass of sinuckholes, quicksands, and glistening green swards that looked solid to the unwary eye but turned to water the instant you trod upon them, the whole of it infested with venomous serpents, and poisonous flowers, and monstrous lizard lions with teeth like daggers. Just as dangerous were its people, it was said, seldom seen but always lurking, the swamp-dwellers, the frog-eaters, the mud-men, the others in the south called them. Fenn and Reed, Peat and Boggs, Cray and Quagg, Greengood and Blackmyre, those were the real names they had. Argella had seen a few of them in Riverrun at Andrew's camp, shorter and leaner than most, and wearing clothes akin to leaves and tree trunks.

Closer to the towers, she could see a lot of men peering down at her. She hoped that the garrison would know her. They had first sent a raven from Riverrun before departing;. sShe hoped that it had reached these strange men of her husband. Argella felt out of place in theis unfamiliar lands of the North, and more unease with every other step she took amidst the misty swamp.

"No closer!" a voice rang out. "State What is what is your purpose here?"

Her party came to a stop. Ser Trent looked at her. Argella nodded. The knight turned back to those men on the towers. "The queen is here." He gestured to the standard bearer. The man spurred his mount onward, waving the direwolf banner so they could not fail to see it. "Let us pass."

There was no reply for a moment.

Then the doors of the tower flung open. Argella took one last look around the swamp where broken chunks of the curtain wall lay half-submerged beneath the bog.

She set her horse forward and continued upon the last few feet of rotten plank road into the safety of Moat Cailin. The door crashed shut behind her when all of her escort had finally made within the fort. It took enough time since the narrow causeway had forced them to ride in single file for the last few feet, and hers was not a small escort.

There were more men in Moat Cailin that she had guessed. The wide courtyard was teeming with men, both men of noble stock and those who served them,. aAnd there were several men at every floor of the towers, peering down at her from the windows. Every single one of them held some sort of weapon, most a bows, some tridents and shields, and some spears and net.

Argella hopped down from the back of her horse and at once all of them went down to one knee.

"Welcome to the North, Your Grace," said the man at the head of them. "We have been eagerly waiting for your arrival for so long."

Argella allowed herself the faintest of smiles. "My lords, I know you will forgive my lateness. "

"It wais our pleasure to anticipate your coming." The man stood up. "I am Lord Howland Reed, at your service. His grace, your husband, left me in command to hold the Neck for him."

"Reed," Argella thought. There were a few Reeds with Andrew as well. "It is gGood to meet you, my lord."

Lord Howland Reed bowed his head. "Likewise, Yyour Ggrace," he said. "I am looking forward to servinge you as faithfully as I had for our previous qQueen,. gGods rest her soul."

Queen Ashara, Andrew's mother. Argella was told by her northern maids that the benevolent queen commanded as much respect as her royal husband had. Her exploits, and benevolence, and beauty were famed through the Seven Kingdoms. The thought of fFollowing in her goodmother's foot steps wouldn't be so easy.

"Thank you for that, Lord Reed," Argella said. "I am really looking forward to it."

Lord Reed's green eyes shone. "You must be tired and hungry. Bannon, Calon, see to them. Wine and ale, and all the food that they can eat. Bowen, show our friends to the rooms we've prepared for them so that they can rest."

"Aye, my lord,." aAnd the men left to carry out their duties.

Argella muttered a thanks to Lord Howland.

"It's nothing, yYour Ggrace," he said. "Come, I will show you to your chambers. They are this way, in the gGatehouse tower." The small man led her to the straight, tall tower in the centrer. The gatehouse tower, Argella noted. She was going to rule these lands, and it was for the better that she knewows about them first-hand.

Lord Howland took her to the chambers at the top of the gGatehouse tower. It was a big room, vast and spacious, boasting a featherbed and a postern bed, a chamber pot, and two windows. There was a big hearth as well, and a servant was busy trying to start a fire. The bed was covered with clean sheets and wolf pelts to ward off the cold.

"This was where Hhis Ggrace stayed when he resided here," Lord Howland informed her. "It has also hosted King Eddard and Queen Ashara before him. It is yours now, so long as you stay here."

"Thank you, Lord Howland," Argella said, smiling.

"It is my pleasure to serve you, Yyour Ggrace." He turned to leave and stopped when he was at the door and looked at Argella. "It is good to have a queen again, your grace." The man bowed once more and stepped out, leaving her alone in the chambers.

A queen, that was what she was now. Like it or not she was their queen now, and she was here. Long has had she mourned for the loss of her home. Perhaps she could turn this frozen land into one, just like Andrew's mother must have done. She was from the south as well, after all.

Argella walked over to the windows and threw the shutters open. The cold air from the north hit her right ion the face. A light rain was showering down out of the slate-grey sky, and it looked as if it was a freezing rain. A taste of winter. Suddenly she was reminded of the ominous words of her husband's house. Winter is Ccoming, and it looked as if it definitely was definitely coming.