Chapter 22: Flights and Plans

POV Jaime, 21st day 11th moon

The fourteen captains, and their men, rode off each in their own random direction, dust rising in their wake. Though all were to eventually reach the Wersterlands, Jaime knew well that many would purposefully never leave the Riverlands.

Some had asked after their camp, and Jaime had to force himself to give nothing away. The scout reported that the fortified camp, held by a hundred footmen and under the command of the seasoned Ser Manterys, was sacked and ruined. All the men killed, while the supplies and the horses were simply gone.

So, Jaime was left with twenty of his best riders, half of which were knights, along with a few squires and some spare horses. From his place in the center of the party, he set them at a swift but easy pace. He didn't want to weaken the horses on the off chance the Blackfish's men caught up with them.

Every once in a while, as they rode under the dense tree canopy, Jaime would look about to make certain no one had fallen behind. He would count each knight, squire, and spare horse individually before going back to his thoughts.

The knights he had with him were all skilled, this Jaime knew from both reputation and when his Uncle Kevan assigned them to his guard. Only one, the ponderous Ser Martyn, had let his age make his middle go soft, and even then he made up for it with his experience. The rest, with the exception of his distant cousin Ser Tylar, were younger men than Ser Martyn.

Jaime looked back at his riders, and counted them carefully. When Jaime was young, a senior knight of his father's household had told him, in great detail, how some men would "get lost" after suffering a route. He wouldn't give his men the opportunity to do the same, even if he thought none would take it.

Some quiet miles later, hushed conversation started up amongst the knights and squires. Jaime couldn't quite hear all of it, but what little he did let him know that they blamed him for their army's loss. He sneered at his horse's head, how was he to expect that the Blackfish of all men would leave the Bloody Gate with over two thousand horse, a quarter of which had to be knights.

Again, Jaime swung his head about to count the men and horses. Which also had the benefit of silencing the muttering, and putting an embarrassed look on more than one man. This time he had to keep himself from squinting at the pink sunlight reflected of their plate.

He grit his teeth. The fucking Blackfish, how did it all come to this? Was it when he didn't push the Stark brat and he blabbed in the little time he had before falling ill, when Lord Stark escaped him, or was it-

Silencing the train of thought with a shake of his head, Jaime focused himself on the present. He'd long learned that to think on the past too deeply was a pointless endeavor.

Jaime, for the fourth time, counted the men before him, then twisted in the saddle to look behind. He noticed it instantly, that the rearmost knight, along with his horse, was missing.

"Halt!" the knight commanded, raising a fist as he did.

He waited a moment, listening for any sign of the rider, but heard nothing other than the breathing of men and horses. Then it struck him, all he heard was his men and their mounts. There was no chirping, buzzing, nor disturbances in the underbrush. There was nothing.

"Ambush!" he cried, ripping his sword from its sheath and pulling his shield from its place on his saddle. The men did the same with their own arms as they quickly circled around him and forced the younger squires to join him in the center.

Jaime grit his teeth, there was no possible way for him to escape as they were, and no way to charge his way through. For without knowing the enemy's position he could run straight into the killing field, but waiting was something he always hated. The way the muscles in his mostly healed leg would start to cramp and twitch after tensed for too long was dangerous as well.

Time passed without disturbance, all still save for the occasional stamping of a hoof, and slowly the younger knights started to relax. Eventually, even Jaime's tight grip on his hilt eased and he forced his leg to loosen.

Slowly, Jaime looked to Ser Tylar, and nodded. The aged man, his face like stone, swiftly returned it and drove his horse down the way they'd come.

The old knight soon disappeared between the trees, then grew too far to hear, and for half a dozen tense minutes there wasn't a sound. Then, after the shadows had lengthened a little more, hoofbeats gradually approached.

Ser Tylar emerged from the trunks, not any worse state than when he left and with the same resolute expression.

"Any sign of him?" Jaime asked.

He shook his head, "Nothing, my lord. He may have simply been distracted and gotten himself lost." Ser Tylar said.

"Perhaps, but we cannot go looking for him."

It was then that, from the treetops, something crashed to the ground with a clatter of steel, startling a few of the horses and causing a spare to rear in panic. The roan stallion galloped away, crushing parts of what Jaime now knew to be the corpse of their lost man, and passed into the trees.

Seconds after it was out of sight, the thundering of hooves was ended with the beast's wet scream.

Before the sound of the corpse falling could reach them, Jaime ordered a charge. He knew that that wasn't the sound of a horse killed by an arrow or bolt, but a blade.

He and his men started at a canter, but quickly reached a gallop.

They raced through the oaks and crashed through the underbrush.

Warcries were called as the dead horse came into view.

Then they all fell silent when they passed it.

When they found no one.

"Stay together!" Jaime commanded, stopping the men from spreading about to find the killer.

The oldest squire sighed in relief, "Twas only wolves, w- we must have scared them off with our charge." he said, voice shaking as he nodded at the corpse.

Jaime looked down at the once proud animal, its throat was mauled into a ruin and there were long gashes along its flank. No signs of any clean cuts to be found, but the young knight knew the difference between a death by a slicing blade from that of a tearing bite. He locked eyes with Ser Tylar, and knew the old knight thought the same. Something was very wrong.

He and Ser Tylar soon got the men and boys back to where they left the corpse, only to find it gone. The sole sign that it was ever there was the pool of blood watering the once dry dirt under them, but even that was hard to spot in the building darkness.

"Fuck, Borys, that ain't a good sign." one man-at-arms said, "Borys?"

Looking back, Jaime saw that their group had shrunken once again. "Borys!" the man shouted, wheeling his horse back where they came.

"Ser!" the youngest squire, a boy of twelve, shouted. "Ser Martyn!"

The two men they called for had somehow disappeared from their rear in the mere moments they'd turned away from them. Jaime thought he'd have to call them back, order them from charging in to save their fellows, but he didn't. The two, and all the others, came together and formed a rough hollow circle.

"Come out you coward!" Ser Davan yelled, swiping his sword in the empty air. "Face us!" his squire joined.

Ahead of them, the sharp crack of a breaking twig sounded. "There!" Ser Davan shouted, then kicked his spurs into his horse's flank.

"Stop!" Jaime commanded, but he was either unheard or ignored as both riders rushed to the source of the noise. He and Ser Tylar barely kept the rest of the men from joining. They were soon proven right to do so, when, the very moment they were out of sight, the brave shouts turned to screams. The only understandable words came from the squire, "Beast! Have at th-" before they were reduced to gurgles.

"Shit!" a man-at-arms cursed, as one of the squires choked back a sob.

"All of you, stay together!" Jaime said, "Whoever it is only attacks small groups, so long as no one else goes off, we have nothing to fear." he assured them.

"Whatever it is, milord." the eldest squire said, "That can't be no man..."

"It must be a demon, sent to punish us..." the youngest squire sniffled, barely keeping tears in check.

"Or a monster." a knight said.

"Or a Grumkin, perhaps a Snark?" Another jestingly suggested, failing to bring any measure of reassurance.

"Silence! All of you!" Ser Tylar shouted, "This is all the work of men, and only men. Few in number, and without bows at that. If they had either we'd all be dead by now." the aged knight's words eased what fears Jaime could see in the men.

"S- so we can run?" but clearly not all of them.

Just as Jaime was about to chew the boy out, a thought struck him. The young squire wasn't wrong, Jaime believed Ser Tylar to be right in his assessment, so they could easily escape. But Jaime was wroth to simply run from wha-whoever was killing his men.

"No... it's impossible." the youngest squire said, filling the silence with his quivering voice, "It has to be a demon, a shade. You can't run from shadows!"

"We all ride chargers boy, of pure Westerland stock, nothing that does not fly can measure up to our speed!" a knight said, words filled with bluster.

"Aye, we've heard no hooves chasing us, so they must be on foot." Ser Tylar said, voice steady. Though Jaime noticed his fists clenched tight on his reins. "A man without steed cannot keep up with us, especially at a canter."

Jaime took a breath, "We continue our retreat, with haste and in good order." he commanded, sheathing his sword and spurring his stallion to break from the circle. Ser Tylar was quick to follow him on his own horse, bringing others into the line.

He drove his steed from a trot to a canter, his men followed soon after. They raced through the wood, tree truck flying by and underbrush breaking under hoof.

Then Jaime heard a dull thunk, quickly followed the sound of plate crashing together and bones snapping. He didn't bother to look back, he knew well what the sound meant.

Their pace quickened, reaching a furious gallop even as Jaime's leg screamed for him to stop.

Only moments later a similar sound reached him from behind, but this time with a cry of pain suddenly cut short.

Jaime drove his spurs deeper into his horse's flanks, Ser Tylar doing the same beside him as another clatter of steel sounded from behind.

Impossible... How could something be chasing them at this speed without him so much as hearing it!

He weaved his stallion around a large tree, and leapt over a brook. Ser Tylar did the same, with little difficulty, but he could hear one of the squires cry out as their horse's leg snapped against the stones or the bank.

They rode as hard as they could, so much so that Jaime could, at times, see the froth over the end of his stallion's muzzle. Another scream echoed through the deepening night.

Ahead, he saw a clearing, brightened by the last of the sun's light. Enough that he might see what chased them. He drove his stallion for it, still kicking the beast for all it was worth, and burst out from the treeline.

Then his horse screamed, and Jaime flew.

For a moment, he was without weight, then it all came back at once as he crashed into the dirt. He went along the ground like a stone skipped along a cave pond. Then ground to a stop in a puddle.

Jaime, spitting out the dirty water that got in his mouth, and got up to his knees. They were cold, which did soothe him leg somewhat. He shifted to lift himself further, but his legs wouldn't move. He reached down for what must have been a root, but found only something smooth, cold, and stuck fast to his plate and boots.

He struck it, hard, but it held strong. He was going for a second strike when he heard something.

"O-o-o-others..." the youngest squire stuttered, "Gods... save us..."

Jaime looked around best he could with his legs trapped, and saw that there were only two of his men with him. Both similarly trapped.

"Fuck..." Ser Tylar said, tugging at his legs as he cursed.

The boy's breath hitched, then Jaime followed his gaze. Ahead of them, and into the trees.

Slitted silver eyes shined from the darkness as the figure approached.

Then everything went dark.

POV Catelyn, 30th day 12th moon

"Here we are, my lady." said Ser Wendel, the younger of Lord Manderly's "boys" as he called them. Both were of closer age to her lord husband and thrice his girth; with bare scalps and well-kept walrus mustaches.

Before them the Moat loomed tall and broken, only three of its original twenty tower still standing, but even in its current state, the evening light painted the ruin to match the menace it had in her husband's tales to their children. Over the three standing towers flew three different banners. The one with the heaviest lean, known now as the Drunkard's Tower, carried the white sun of the Karstarks. The tall and slender Children's Tower boasted the Umber's unchained giant. Over both was the Stark direwolf. Finally, the Gatehouse Tower, the largest and most intact, bore solely the grey wolf.

Catelyn made for Robb's chosen seat the very moment she saw it, while Ser Wylis broke from her and his brother to take charge of the men and set their camp. So, the lady went to the moss-covered tower with only Ser Wendel for company. They rode over the plank road that had been set over the horrifically muddy path to the Gatehouse Tower.

Once inside the drafty main hall, she found her son surrounded by his father's lordly bannermen, the only light in the hall coming from too few candles and a low burning hearth. Robb sat in the middle of a great carved stone table with a dozen maps littered with various bits. He was so deep in his conversation with his good-father and Lord Bolton that he didn't notice her enter the room.

But Greywind did, the big wolf springing from where he lounged by the fire to sniff at her hand and lick at her scarred fingers.

"Mother?" Robb said, his voice steely but eyes wet.

For all she knew she couldn't Catelyn wanted to run to him, wrap him in her arms and hold him tight enough that none could so much as touch him. Instead, she petted Greywind's furry head and scratched his ears as she approached.

"You've grown a beard." she said, the extra hair was odd to her. Like someone had painted a portrait of an older version of her son.

"Yes, Serena likes it." he said, rubbing at the short beard. It was redder than the hair on his head.

"Of course she does!" the Greatjon said, "And when you get back to Winterfell, she'll let you know how much! Ha! She's like her mother that one." he continued, slapping a giant hand onto Robb's back.

"I like it as well, you look like my brother Edmure." she said, but once she did what jovial airs there were disappeared.

"My Lords, you are dismissed for the night." Her son commanded, just as his father would, "We will return on the morrow."

The Lords all left, some giving her glances as they did, and it was as the crowd thinned that she noticed someone else. Sitting in one of the few chairs was the woman who came with the Bastard, Karra her name was. Theon also stayed behind. "Theon, Karra, you as well."

The blond woman rose gracefully, nodded to Robb, and then Catelyn, before leaving. Theon did the same, but spoke as he passed her, "It's good to see you, Lady Stark." he said.

When they were finally alone, Catelyn walked closer to her son, "What is it, Robb?" the look in his eyes dropped a weight in her. Did Bran...

"The Tully forces met the Kingslayer in the field, his forces were routed, and Riverrun stands, thanks to the Blackfish." he told her, then looked away, "But Edmure was gravely injured, Ser Brynden's letter said nothing specific of his injuries, only that it was grave."

Catelyn sighed her relief, "Have you... heard of father?" Robb said, and she felt her hands clench.

"Yes." she had been given the details by Lord Manderly soon after she and Ser Rodrik hit the port, of the highly suspicious nature and very sudden death of King Robert, and her lord husband's subsequent capture. "Lord Manderly told me when I made port in White Harbor, but have you any word of your sisters?"

"There was a letter." he said, standing and making his way to a paper laden table. "One was sent to you as well, but I had expected you to go to Winterfell." he then pulled a wrinkled and nearly torn parchment from the group, "This is the one they sent me."

She took it, and carefully flattened the letter out, then read it over. As she read, her concern grew and grew. "They say nothing of your sisters..."

"We suspect that Jon escaped with them, when father was captured." Robb said, and though she doubted him, both the look in his eyes and the strength in his voice kept her from voicing it.

"We have also received word from the Vale, they are gathering their forces to fight alongside us." he added seriously, before sighing. "But, we were also told that... Aunt Lysa has died."

While the news of reinforcements was quite welcome, Catelyn wasn't all that shocked to hear of her sister's death. Nor was she as saddened as she would have been only a few moons ago, all because of the words Lysa croaked at her in Cat's last days at the Eyrie.

"I see..." Catelyn said.

Then, after the appropriate silence had passed, Cat got back on subject. "So, then, what do you know of the war as of now, Robb?" she asked, for she had to know his readiness.

"More than a fortnight past a Westerland army under Jaime Lannister fought against the forces of Lords Piper and Vance on the road between the Golden Tooth and Wayfarer's Rest. After the outrider skirmishes ended, the armies battled for only a morning before the Western army forced the Riverlanders to route." Robb's telling was like that of a Maester, but somehow invested, "Lord Vance was felled, and last word on that force said that Lord Piper was harrying the Lannister supply lines. Then, as I said, came Lord Edmure's battle." it was the that Robb walked away from her, and leaned over a detailed, but old, map of the Riverlands.

"All that time, a second Westerland army under Lord Tywin was coming from Deep Den and burning its way up the Riverlands." he said, his finger tracing a line long the Riverlands, "Thanks to a raven from Raventree Hall, we know that the castles he passed weren't taken, but he put most of the castles and fortresses under siege with the minimum part of his forces, and then marched the rest northward. The first few were burned out, which, added to Lord Lannister's reputation, keeps the men in the besieged castle from sortieing out of fear that he would turn his army around to slaughter them. That tactic's been working well for them, especially after his dogs killed the forces father sent to bring them to justice." the way he was talking made it seem as is Catelyn was no longer truly there, like he was talking to himself.

"You mean to face him here?" She asked, even though she felt as though he might not even hear her. But he did.

"Lord Reed and his men, along with the Manderly fleet and forces of our western coast will close the North from all but the most suicidal of attackers." he said, looking at her with a slight smile. "Although, all the Lords doubt that Lord Lannister will come all the way here. Galbart Glover and Lord Bolton both agree that he's too smart for that. No, he'll take every castle and fort in the Riverlands, then hold the families within hostage against us."

How grim... "So, with the North secure, the men will be assured in their families' safety when we march down the Kingsroad. Once the first battle, perhaps the second, is ours the Riverlanders will rally, and Lord Tywin's strategy will fall apart. From there the Lannisters will have only father to hold us, and we sue for peace."

Even the thought of her boy going against commanders of the likes of Jaime and Tywin Lannister was like ice striking her bones, "Is that wise? If you stay here you will be strongly placed, as the old Kings of Winter were, you could throw away a host ten times yours."

"We could, but doing so would doom our cause just as surely as surrendering ourselves to Joffrey. Besides, our supplies are running low, and this isn't land that can be lived off of easily. Winter is coming, mother. And the army will dissolve when it does, unless we reap rations from the enemy of course." he said, stroking his stubble and shaking his head, "We waited only for Lord Manderly, with his sons having joined us we must march."

It was then that she realised that the voices of the lords under that of her son. Over the years each and every one had been hosted in her halls. She knew what sort of man each one was, but there was another one there. One she didn't quite recognise, Theon perhaps? But no, she knew the Greyjoy well. Then who? "Marching is all well and good, but where will you march and to what purpose? What do you mean to do exactly?" she asked.

Robb's response came in an instant, "Greatjon says we should force march down the Kingsroad to strike Tywin near the trident as soon as we can, then hold him until the Vale joins us and attacks from the rear. Or, if they assemble and march through the mountains faster than expected, and the Lannisters retreat, we join with the Vale knights to attack." he said, moving coloured wooden pieces around on the map, "Lord Karstark, on the other hand, says we should go through the Twins to sure up the Riverlords' defences, clear the Lannister men in the western Riverlands, and perhaps take the fight to the Westerlands to acquire more hostages of our own."

"But, Robb, those are the plans of your bannermen. Though they are wise men, and experienced, you named yourself their battle commander. So, I ask you again. What do you mean to do?" Cat said, he couldn't simply do as any of the Lords said. As their commander he had to take their advice, yes, but ultimately he must make his own plans.

Her son sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair, "The Kingsroad, and Lord Tywin. But unlike Greatjon, I believe that Tywin will retreat when he gets word of our coming. He's too intelligent, and experienced, to face against both us and the Vale in the field when he has other options. He will want to force us unto a fight where he has the advantage, and with the size of his forces, I suspect he'll take residence in Harrenhall, rather than Darry."

"Since it will likely come to a siege, I will take our horse and ride to reinforce Riverrun by way of the Riverroad. Mayhaps together we will then go on to the Westerlands, but that remains to be seen." he finished, standing up from the stone table.

"If you are to take command of the horse, who will you have lead the footmen?" Catelyn asked, for there was a wealth of options. She only hoped he could pick the proper lord, or that she could change his mind to the proper one.

"The Greatjon seems as good a choice as any, he's experienced in leading infantry, and worthy of trust." A misstep, but an understandable one. But how would she tell him this without striking at his confidence?

"Lord Umber is a strong man, and proud. But he will have to work alongside the commanders of the Vale army, would he not?" she asked, prodding him in the right direction. Then decided to be more forceful, "The men under his command would be fewer in number than the other commanders', and his pride my cause unneeded disturbances."

Robb shifted his weight backward, stroking at his fledgeling beard. Looking almost like his father did whenever someone brought up something he hadn't considered.

"Then a more agreeable man would be better suited, should he also have enough spine." he finally said, "My thanks, mother, I will think it over further tonight."

They fell silent as Robb easily replaced the wooden figures to their earlier positions, and collected the letter from Kingslanding. He only spoke once again as he pushed it back into a small box of correspondence.

"What time do you plan to leave tomorrow? I will have to arrange a sizable escort for you tonight if it's to be in the morning." her son said, walking over to the hearth.

"I cannot return to Winterfell, my father and brother may be dying within the walls of Riverrun. I must go to them."

POV Tytos, 27th day 11th moon

"We should push onward, my lords, purge the Lannister bandits from our lands!" a younger lord proclaimed, lightly stomping a booted foot against the redwood floor of the chamber.

"No, we should gather more men here, and find a way to bring in the Late Lord to task. We need his numbers." an older knight, with the Tully fish over his heart, calmly rebuked.

"There is no time for waiting, Ser." Another man, slightly younger than the knight, said. "Ser Vance and Lord Piper have too few men and need reinforcements."

"With what men?"

"No! The Old Lion is burning a bloody path to Harrenhall, we must at least try to slow his advance."

"To do so would leave us too vulnerable here."

"Vulnerable to who, broken men?"

"To the western reinforcements, you fool!"'

"We must-"

Before the knight could say anything else, the side door to the great hall slammed open and a young runner rushed to Ser Brynden with a rolled parchment.

The Blackfish quickly took it from the boy, and swiftly dismissed him. He rolled it out before them, then, as he read it, Ser Brynden's face fell and his eyes watered. The older knight dropped the letter on the map laden table, and men gave him a moment.

When that moment passed, and still Ser Brynden said nothing, Tytos stepped up. With a gentle, but firm, hand on his old comrade's shoulder, he quietly asked for his permission. A shallow nod from the knight saw Tytos taking up the letter, and reading it allowed for the benefit of the men around the room.

"Ser Brynden of House Tully." he read, "I regret to inform you that your niece, the Lady Lysa Arryn, has died." Tytos paused, allowing all of the men take in the information. Some, mostly older knights and men of House Tully, covered with faces with a hand or muttered their sadness. While most of the others nodded sadly. "In light of current events, a regency council had been assembled for the raising of young Lord Arryn and to bear the weight of his responsibilities until his is of age. The members of this council are myself, Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, Lord Gilwood Hunter of Longbow Hall, Lord Horton Redfort of Redfort, Lord Benedar Belmore of Strongsong, and Ser Tymond Templeton of Ninestars."

Tytos unrolled the parchment further, and continued reading, "Furthermore, the council has decided to support the Riverlands against the aggressing Lannister forces. To this end an army is being assembled under the command of Lord Royce at the Gates of the Moon." then he finally reached the end.

"Regards, and condolences, Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks."

He rolled the letter tightly, then placed it on the table.

The first man to speak, after a lengthy and proper silence, was Tytos. "My Lords, Sers, I believe we must dismiss and end here, today. To convene again on the morrow." he said, keeping anyone more callous from saying anything undue.

All the lords nodded, the Sers all bowed, and they slowly filed out. Some offering condolences as they did, Ser Arctic even gave Ser Brynden a comforting hand and placed a container before the older man, with some whispered words Tytos couldn't hear.

As the Lord of Raventree Hall followed the young knight out of the room, he heard a heavy sigh, the opening of a cork, and was struck by the smell of powerful liquor.

_29th day 11th moon_

Tytos, wandering about the halls of Riverrun, brooded over young Niles. The boy had lost everything, and had little to go back to in his riverside village other than the life of a fisherman in poverty. Thankfully for him, his actions and those of his father had guaranteed that Tytos would repay him handsomely. The trouble was that the Lord had little idea of how to properly repay the boy.

A knighting was obvious, but would do him little good on its own. He had already given Niles his father's sword, and the horse of one of his fallen knights, but with only that and his spurs Niles would likely turn brigand to support himself before long, or at best a poor hedge knight, and that would help no one.

No, he had to find him a position in a household. But with him being one of House Tully's people Tytos couldn't simply poach him and take him on. Not without permission at least, which he was yet to find a time to ask for.

His thoughts were interrupted when he turned a corner and almost bumped into his nephew.

"Willam?" he said, "What are you doing here, I thought you would be in Dorne visiting your uncles by now."

The baseborn son of his youngest brother blinked in surprise, before smiling sheepishly, "I may have gotten... distracted, nuncle."

"By the Hand's tourney I suppose?" he said, but continued before he could answer, "Did you at least win the archery competition?"

"No, uncle, second place."

"First of the losers then." Tytos said with a smile.

"Yes, uncle." Willam replied, returning it with one of his own.

"So then, after the tourney you...?" the Lord led.

"Joined in the travels of one Ser Jon Arctic and his companions, where we traveled northward rather quickly in the woods and fields near the Kingsroad. Truly roughing it, and not in a fun way." Willam said, inspecting his ragged nails with a frown.

"Ser Arctic." Tytos said, an idea forming, "So, you have joined the outriders he commands on behalf of Ser Brynden then?"

"Yes, uncle. Though the men are more Ser Jon's than the Blackfish's." No matter, so long as they're officially under Lord Tully. "They were mostly hedge knights or boy's aiming for their spurs that all merely followed along until he took them under him. And he has been gaining their admiration ever since." he said, and, finally, the perfect opportunity revealed itself.

Then he pounced on it, "Does Ser Jon have room in his household, any need for a squire or a groom?" he asked the boy.

"I doubt he needs or desires either, but, after his capture of the Kingslayer, Ser Brynden has recently given leave for Ser Jon to gather more men under his command." Willam easily answered, "Who do you have in mind? Ben perhaps?"

"No, a young man and his father among the levies saved my life in the battle, with the father dead all debts fall to his son. I mean to arrange for him, Niles that is, to have a good place." Tytos said, stroking his beard.

"Well, with Ser Jon and the lads is as good of one as any, he might hate you for the first few weeks though." Willam said with that just so slightly cruel smirk of his.

Tytos smiled, then put an arm around his nephew, "It's been a long time since we've gone to the butts together, Willam. Perhaps you can show me how you've improved?"

The archer put his own arm around Tytos's shoulders, "Indeed, it has been a long time since I last bested you there."

"You must be more respectful of your elders, boy, lest they embarrass you!" Tytos laughed.

"Yes, uncle."

POV Filly, 24th day 11th moon

The young girl, one of the few to keep her job after the jolly king died, stood in the corner of the small council room next to the large table of goblets, decanters, and flagons. Before her, at the table where the icy Hand used to preside over, six sat. At the head of the table was her grace, the Queen in her jeweled gown, nearly sitting on the other end was Lord Varys, halfway between them was the affable Master of Coin. There was also the Grand Maester Pycell who, if what the other girls told her was true, she never wanted to be trapped in a room alone with. Next to the white bearded maester was Janos, the commander of the Goldcloaks.

Finally, beside his mother at the head of the table, was the pri- the King Joffrey.

"I want Stark killed for what he did!" the King demanded, slamming a fist into the glossy table.

"As much as I, like all of you surely, want to see the traitor punished, I must advise against it." Lord Baelish said, pulling at his pointed beard, "His is our only hostage against the Starks, after all."

"I must agree, your grace." Lord Varys purred, "It would be short-sighted of us to do so, and so soon after your royal father's tragic accident on his latest hunt. Slaying his Hand might seem... suspicious."

The queen glared at the Master of Whispers, "What are you implying, Varys."

"I imply nothing, Queen Regent. I am merely pointing out that killing the King's most trusted friend after the incredible nature of his accident may bring some lords to question certain whispers from Lord Stannis." the soft skinned man dabbed his forehead with a silk cloth, "It truly was strange, King Robert's death. Lord Baelish, what are the odds that four arrows aimed for a hart would strike the king, all while Ser Barristan was busy with Prince Tommen, who was known for disliking hunts, yet insisted on going?"

"Infinitesimal, Lord Varys." the short man answered with an easy smile.

"Enough!" the Queen commanded, "Grand Maester, have we received any ravens?"

Without hesitation, the oldest member of the council pulled rolled parchments from his sleeves. "A few, Your Grace." he reported, "The first is a demand from Riverrun for His Grace to uphold his Peace and assist in removing his Lord Grandfather's men from the Riverlands."

The Queen sniffed in distain, "Next."

"After that came official word from Ser Jaime, his army has pushed the Vance, Piper, and Tully resistance to Riverrun. He has also stated that he expects little trouble taking the Tully's stronghold." the Grand Maester read, before handing the message to Her Grace.

"There are others, yes?" Lord Baelish prompted.

The older man nodded, "Indeed, my lord. From Last Hearth, signed 'Greatjon'." then averted his eyes, "However I don't think that it would be appropriate for current company."

"We are all of high birth and training, maester, we won't overreact." the thin lord said, holding out a goblet for her to fill. She quickly complied, pouring from the half empty flagon of Arbor Gold the Master of Coin had been drinking from. Filly didn't know why, but he was awfully fond of it. Especially so whenever he spoke to the Lord Hand.

At the Queen's urging, the aged maester read the final letter, "It says for the King to, and pardons for the coarse language, 'Buggar himself' Your Grace."

"WHAT!" the king cried, red in the face, "Mother, I want this 'Greatjon' killed! No, tortured, then killed!"

"The traitors will all be punished soon, darling." Her Grace reassured, "Just as soon as your grandfather has them cowed, they will be brought to you in chains."

"Anything else, Grand Maester?" the Queen then demanded, her voice shifting impressively as she glared at the maester.

"No, Your Grace." Maester Pycell said, bowing in his seat.

"There is news from the Narrow Sea, your grace." Lord Varys said, filling the silence, "My little birds sing songs of dragons, of the scaled variety, flying over Dragonstone, in great numbers at that."

"I care not for the tales of drunken sailors or superstitious smallfolk, Lord Varys." Her Grace said, dismissing the news with a wave, "Tell me of the Stark girls, have your 'birds' heard anything?"

The bald man shook his head sadly, "Other than what befell the pursuers sent after them, and the pointless chase of Ser Arctic, it seems that the ladies of House Stark have disappeared. Mayhaps they met with their half-brother, he is known to be an excellent tracker. Ser Arctic would be able to disguise their travel."

"And slay any of your birds he comes across, my lord?" Lord Baelish asked.

"Not to my knowledge, Lord Petyr." Lord Varys said.

King Joffrey slammed a hand onto the table, "What of my traitor uncles, Spider? Have their men come to their senses and captured them in my name?" he demanded, his striking green eyes glaring at Lord Varys.

"Lord Stannis is still gathering men at Dragonstone, hastily and in large number at that. He has even procured a fleet of sell-sails let by the self-styled Prince of the Narrow Sea, Salladhor San." the Master of Whispers tittered, "While it seems that Renly, even with his considerable forces, is content to progress through the lands of his loyal lords. Those still being the entirety of the Reach and the majority of the Stormlands."

"So, nothing has changed."

"On the contrary, Lysa Arryn has died." Lord Varys replied, "Condolences, Lord Baelish, you were friends in your youth. Correct?" he said, his round face sad. Filly doubted the trueness of the expression, everyone and their gran knew that Lord Varys was a mummer and cared little for anything other than himself. He did pay good coin though.

"Yes..." the Master of Coin said, the word seemed to be forced from his mouth.

"Then why has the Vale not requested that we appoint a Regency?" Grand Maester Pycell asked, as both the King and the Queen glared.

"It seems the Lords of the Vale took it upon themselves." Lord Varys said, "Lords Yohn Royce, Gilwood Hunter, Horton Redfort, Benedar Belmore, Lady Anya Waynwood, and Ser Symond Templeton together make young Lord Robert's Regency Council."

There was a short moment of silence, before the King's anger erupted, "They dare!" he shouted, "Those pathetic Valemen think they can simply decide such without my approval!"

Her Grace quickly moved to calm her seething son, Filly couldn't help but notice that that was what she did most of the time.

Suddenly, knocks sounded from the Small Council Chamber's double doors. "A runner, your grace, holding an urgent message for you. Or, so they say." Ser Blount said, his voice hardly making it to them through the heavy door.

"Sent them in." the Queen commanded, resting a hand on the King's arm. "I could be news of your uncle's victory, my Sweet."

One of the great double doors opened wide and let in a short messenger boy she didn't recognise. He quickly walked in, skittish as a mouse before a cat, and pulled out a letter. The Queen gestured to Maester Pycell, and the messenger almost rushed to hand it to the man before bowing and leaving.

The Grand Maester looked the letter over, and then opened it. Only to pale.

"I- it is written by Ser Brynden Tully, and he says that Ser Jaime's army was routed by the Riverlords beneath the walls of Riverrun." His small eyes continued, and widened, "And Ser Jaime was captured soon after."

Silence loomed heavy over the room, then the King stood slowly. He didn't rage like she expected, it seemed like his words, not nearly enough to express his rage, were failing him. King Joffrey then left the Small Council's chamber like a storm, ignoring the Queen's grasping hand and saying something about punishment.

Once the King was gone the Queen simply stared at her glass goblet, drank the remaining dornish red inside, and threw it with a roar. The cup, worth more than half a year of the coin she made, shattered against the stone wall.

"The Small Council is dismissed for the day." she said, perfectly calm, as she fixed what locks of hair were loosed from her throw.

The queen stood with all the grace she first sat down with, and left from the side door. Which left all the other council members sitting in silence. First to rise, shakily, was the Grand Maester. He made his farewells and promptly left.

Lord Varys and Lord Baelish simply stared at each other, the Master of Coin smirking as the Master of Whispers had that soft smile of his. Finally, they both stood and she was free of her duties. Filly put down the flagon, brushed down her rough servant's dress with her hands and went for the servant's door.

But before Filly managed to leave, Lord Varys stopped her in her tracks. "Filly, my dear. Please bring Lord Eddard his meal." he commanded, sneaking her a rolled-up parchment into her hand as he clasped it.

The serving girl nodded quickly, and the Master of Whispers left with a smile.

Filly stood there for a moment, her closed fist trembling as it held the letter. She didn't want to go down there, to see the Lord Hand. Filly had heard the stories from the others who've seen him, that he'd turned into the beast on his sigil, that the King had broken him by torture, that his dour face had been turned to a ruin.

But, if she didn't, Lord Varys would know and she'd disappear like the others who refused him.

So, Filly forced herself over to the untouched luncheon that sat on the small council table, and piled a plate high with small meats and finger food. If the tales were anywhere near true the man would be in no state to use utensils. She shivered at the image her mind made, her father always used to say her imagination was too active. Most times she agreed.

Once the plate was ready, Filly took it up in both hands and left the chamber. She struggled with the door, but once she was passed it the path was easy. It helped that no one gave her so much as a second look.

The serving girl walked quickly, but kept from running as she went through halls and down stairs. Then, finally, she reached the dungeon's door.

Gaoler Slorne sneered at her the moment he saw her, "What'd-you think yer doin here, girly. Ye kno-"

"I've been sent by Lord Varys, for Lord Stark." she said, and watched as the large man's face went white.

He quickly unlocked and opened the door for her, almost bowing in terror as she passed through, then gently closed it behind them. He quickly moved about the small room as she waited in silence.

The gaoler hefted a heavy iron oil lamp, struck the flint with one hand in a well-practised motion, and moved for the second door of the chamber. He unlocked it, and opened it for her same as the first. Together, still without a word, they walked down the damp hall until they reached the stair. Slorne went down first, and she followed him all the way down to the infamous Black Cells.

Filly was led right from the stairway's opening and passed only three empty cells until Slorne stopped at one. "Lord Stark be in here." he said, as he opened the door for her.

At that moment, she hesitated. The darkness of the cell loomed before her, and the light sounds of breathing that came from within sent tremors through her. Her fear of what hid within was terrible, but that of Varys was worse.

She shifted her grip as she passed Slorne, and took the lamp from him with her now-free hand. He made no complaints.

The gloom receded as Filly entered the cell, and at the very back, both kneeling on the stones and chained to the wall by his wrists, was Lord Stark. As the light revealed his form, Filly saw not the man-beast that the kitchens whispered about, nor the crazed living corpse that the guard jested over, only a man. What used to be his doublet was reduced to ragged strips that hung from the ruin that was his trousers, and his hair was greasy, tangled, and charred in places, what she saw of his beard was in the same state. He was battered as well, his nails were gone and dried blood was present anywhere she looked. But it was clear he wasn't broken.

"Have you come for more, boy?" he asked, and his voice wasn't the growls that she expected, it was quite normal. Although deeper and hoarser than she was accustomed to.

"L-lord Stark?" she said, mentally chiding herself for her stutter.

"Ah, I apologise." the lord said, "I took you for Waters."

"Waters?" she asked, Filly knew of no lordly bastards that would come by here.

"The bastard child of incest Cersei would have all call... King." the man said, the title seeming to hurt him as it passed between scabbed his lips.

"King Joffrey... is a bastard?" it was numbing to think about. Is that why Lord Stark was sent down here?

"Aye, I know of it, and I suspect Lord Varys has known longer than I." he said, moving to stretch his neck before he jerked to a stop. "But the important part, is that Stannis knows as well. Once he crowns himself and spreads the news to the realm all will know the truth."

Filly blinked, they said that Lord Stark was a man with a heart made of ice and was as cunning as a wolf, but just then... just then he seemed terribly naïve. Even she, at her thirteen namedays, knew that most lords didn't care for anything that wasn't to their advantage, and would even "forget" if it suited them. Like they forgot her father.

"It hardly matters to you though, I suppose." he said, then let out a sad sigh. "My mother told me, so long ago now, that the smallfolk cared little for who ruled so long as they and their family were fed, housed, and safe." he said, still looking at the ground.

Then, Lord Stark started mumbling something, Filly only caught the last of it. "...I wish... I could be so free."

Once those final words faded into nothing, they remained in silence for a while as Filly took in what he said. That he, a great lord of terrible power, was jealous of her? A mere serving girl?

Eventually, the man spoke again, "Why are you here..." he said, then he lightly shook his head as he trailed off, "Before that. What is your name, girl?"

"My name?" this was even more shocking than what he told her of the King. A lord wanted to know her name. "Why? Milord." she quickly added.

"Aye, your name. I can't simply keep calling you girl now, can I?"

"It's Filly, milord." she quickly said, it was easier than she expected.

"Enough with the 'milord's, Filly." he let out a cough-like chuckle, "I get enough of those down here, and before. Not enough of my name, just call me Ned, Filly."

"Yes, mil- Ned." she said, unable to force her tiny smile away.

They were silent again, then he spoke up. "Why are you here, Filly?" Lord Stark, Ned, asked.

"Ah." she'd completely forgotten, "I was told to bring down some food." Filly said, finally remembering the plate that still balanced on her one hand.

She quickly approached, and set the meal down near where Ned kneeled on the stones. "Thank you, Filly, but that isn't the only reason you're here." he said, "I have learned, too late now I suppose, that no one in the Red Keep ever visits someone for only one reason."

"I also have a message from Lord Varys." she admitted, setting down the lantern and bringing the rolled-up parchment under Ned's head.

After a moment, the man looked up at her, and Filly had to keep herself from gasping. His eye, his left eye, was only a burned pit behind his hair. It looked rather fresh, seeping with blood and a queer clear fluid. "I'm afraid you will have to read it to me, the light is still too harsh on me, and this eye isn't helping matters."

Filly nodded, and suddenly understood that taking his eye was the punishment the King was talking about.

She breathed deep, unable to look away from the fleshy pit, and unrolled the parchment.

"Filly." he said, shocking her out of her daze.

The serving girl blinked, her eyes finally leaving the pit to look at Ned's healthier eye. It was a steely grey, sharp and focused, but at times grew softer and distant. She also saw that his nose was freshly broken.

She looked away from his face and down to the message, then read it aloud. Quietly, it wouldn't do for Slorne, if he was still there, to hear it. "Lord Stark, I apologise for not coming in person, but there was a complication in my schedule. You will glad to know that your natural son has escaped with his princess, your daughters and your ward. There are no plans for you execution, nor for any official punishment. The King and his mother plan to use you for hostage." Filly then stopped, the next line startling her.

"I have arranged for your escape, save what strength you have left for three days from now. Filly will assist you..." she finished, trailing off as she realised what she just read.

"I'm sorry, Filly." Ned said, his remaining eye soft. "It seems I've pulled you into the 'Game' without even trying."

"No, it isn't your fault, Ned." Game?

He sighed sadly, then asked something rather odd "Do you have any siblings, Filly?"

She blinked, "A brother and a sister, but... their gone now."

"I understand." he said sadly, "Could you tell me about them?"

At her odd look he explained, "I would rather not only have my own thoughts for company when you leave."

Filly nodded, picked up the plate of food, and started telling him about her older brother as she fed him. Only happy memories of course, she didn't want more sadness tumbling around in his head. Ned, she found, was a good listener. He paid attention to her words, looking her in the eye and made only the occasional comment.

Eventually, her stories petered out, but food still remained. So, between bites, Ned would tell her of his own siblings. About what a hellion his little sister was, how his younger brother followed her around, all the ways his older brother got himself into trouble and made fun. Most tales included Ned doing his best to salvage the consequences of all their mischief.

She didn't know how much time passed, but she felt weariness seeping in by the time all the food was gone. "Thank you, Filly." he looked around, then gently shook his head, "But it's time for you to go."

Filly didn't quite know why, but she would rather not.

Regardless of her feelings on the matter, she took up the plate and lantern, then went to the cell door. Outside she found that Slorne had retreated to the stair.

"Goodbye, Ned." she said, just outside the door.

"Farewell, Filly." he replied.

And then she left.

POV Taranis

The she-dragon hadn't been flying for very long, but it came with such ease that it felt like she'd been doing it for years. Not only did the physical height reflect the truth, that all was below her, but when not hunting it did wonders to her pondering.

One such thing she thought on was the name those silly creatures called her, "Taranis" they would cry as they stared and pointed at her. She didn't blame them for starring, she was glorious, and she quite liked the name. The dragon would, at times, land before the "Humans" as one of her underlings called them to let them see her better. Yet every time she did so they ran like squirrels did in her younger days. Perhaps they felt themselves unworthy?

Taranis swung her head down to look over her territory, it was a drab thing. All grey and black with only some weak green on the eastern side. The man den shared the land's theme, only a black deeper than the rest.

But colour could be seen, her lessers slithering from their small caves to hunt or to fight each other. So far, she had found seven, and only had to fight three to prove her dominance over them. Each were unique in their way, though none had names like she did. So, Taranis referred to them by colour.

She spotted Blue, their whole body the same shade as a cloudless sky. That one was the simplest to defeat, they had large and strong wings, but thin legs and a weak neck. By their side was Silver, the smallest of all she'd come across.

Her aimless flight soon brought her closer to the dark man-den, and the strange wooden things that floated by the nearly equally odd wooden outshoots the came off from the land near the littler man-dens. There were much more there than the day before, doubly so for the number only a few days ago, she'd contemplated burning them. But it simply wouldn't do anything for her, so she didn't.

At the same time there were also far more of the shiny shelled humans walking about and tussling with each other in the big man-den. The shelled humans were different from the normal ones, for one they didn't run at the sight of her, and some even offered themselves to her.

Taranis would be napping in her den, her still small hoard under her belly, and they would walk in announcing themselves to her. She would quickly set them alight, of course, although they screamed slightly louder than she expected, and some seemed skittish when they approached. One with char-like hair even ran before she could hit it. Why offer itself only to run?

Shaking the pointless thought from her head, Taranis found herself a bit hungry. She wheeled away from the coast and flew inland, passed by the craggy stone and made for the weak grasses.

She quickly spotted a human and some sheep. The she-dragon lined herself to the choicest of the bunch, breathed in, built her heat, and then loosed her flames.

The dark purple blast covered four fat sheep and the human, she made sure to burn hot and quick. If she didn't go hot then the annoying wool would remain on her prey and get stuck between her teeth, but if it burned to long there'd be nothing to eat.

Once she ate her fill, and noticed that the sheep were smaller than yesterday, Taranis left the pile of shattered bones that rested upon the dark ash for her den.

It was a short flight and, other than a pesky eagle, uneventful.

The cave she had taken as her den was very near the remains of her prison, and high in her territory's dark mount, and deep enough to be heated by the inner fire of the stone. The entrance was plentiful in size, enough for a dozen of her to pass through at the same time. The walls of the cavern were smooth, and had some black scales stuck in some places. As she landed inside, and shoved some old bones aside, an excited trill came from deep within.

Seconds later, a red glow burned bright and forced away the darkness. Then her pet came crawling as quick as she could to greet her. Ruby was a small thing, only slightly larger than silver and stronger in the jaw, but terribly endearing to Taranis. It was barely into their third day of freedom that she brought Ruby into her fold, and she hadn't regretted it for a moment.

The excited dragonette trilled again as she reached her and rubbed her head under Taranis' jaw. The she-dragon screeched for her to be still, then gave her the eagle's still-bleeding corpse.

Not a second later it was bathed in crimson flames and smashed between Ruby's teeth.

Taranis passed the happy dragonette, sliding her tail along hers as she did, and made for her hoard. It was still small, and housed inside an ancient dragon's skull, but it was hers. And would grow to suit her with time. At the moment it was filled with the blackened shells of humans, some of their claws, curious bones, and great big scales of countless colours.

She curled up atop her hoard, Ruby doing the same in the space Taranis left in between her and her tail, and made sure to put her head where she could clearly see her favourite piece. A great, shiny, scale of bright gold.

The Queen closed her eyes, and when to sleep.

Taranis' eyes snapped open to the sound of a stone tumbling along her cave's entrance. She still felt Ruby along her flank, and none of the other dragons she seen so far would dare enter her den. A happy rumble rolled out from deep in her chest, it must have been a new challenger then. Another chance to show them all none could worm their way above her.

Taking care not to wake the dragonette, Taranis uncoiled herself and got her limbs under her. Slowly, she stalked out of the old skull and across the floor of the den towards the source of the sound.

Soon, she saw movement in the darkness, and brought her flames up into her maw. The purple glow spewed forth and covered the smooth wall and ceiling in its light.

Disappointment quickly took hold of her at what she saw. It was no dragon to crush, only a human. Only notable in that it was female, the third to present themselves to her, and that most of its colours were much like Ruby's. Safe for its pale hide of course. Before she could make her displeasure known, the human called over to her.

"Taranis!" the human cried, "Mightiest among the reborn dragons!" whatever the strange creature was trying to communicate must have been great, for it seemed to grow before the she-dragon's eyes.

She looked down upon the red covered female, this one was very different from the last she'd seen. There was no smell of fear that she had become accustomed to smelling on those that presented themselves to her, and there was a surety in her gaze that she'd only seen in her first challenger.

Taranis shook out her head, the human's strangeness made no matter.

Once her claws were pierced deep into the stone, she brought her chest forward and her head up to tower over the human. It was crying out over things now, but she understood none of it. Taranis breathed in deep, her royal purple chest expanded, then the air turned to flame. As the first rays of sunlight streamed into the cave, she unleased it upon the human.

But something wasn't right, there was no scream. Had her flames killed the thing outright, or was it due to the human's strangeness?

Finally, her lungs emptied and her flames scattered into the darkness, yet, when they did, the human remained. Wholly unburnt.

As the human started again with its noise, a fury was slowly building in her. Taranis took another deep breath, perhaps this was a special human and her fire hadn't been hot or lasting enough. Again, deep in her lungs, air turned to fire, but this time she forced her chest to shrink and crush tighter around the flame. Making it smaller, but stronger.

The fires finally reached the proper heat, almost enough to be painful, and Taranis blasted the still shouting human.

Still, the death noises didn't present themselves.

Again, the flames dispersed, and the human remained. Taranis let out a burning screech full in the human's pale face, and finally smelled something close to fear.

Overjoyed, Taranis reared back on her legs and spread her wings, the tips not quite touching the walls, then opened her jaws wide and snapped down on the human with the same speed that caught Silver. Her teeth snapped together on nothing, and, tasting smoke, she let out a rumbling growl. She was certain she bit down on the human.

Taranis brought her head back and saw that she had bitten clean though the red human, but there she stood. Completely whole.

Then, before her very eyes, the red human's form weakened. The crisp lines of its coverings, sharp angles of its face blurred, the bright colours faded to grey, and its hair went wispy. The she-dragon shifted, moving her head around the human to see that her first guess was right. It was turning to smoke, but not how it was meant to.

A second later it was gone.

Taranis roared her fury, the red human dared to mock her and escape her vengeance. Brushing aside the clinging smoke, she rushed through the cave with more speed than she'd ever seen fit to use before, and threw herself into the sky the moment the cave opened.

If she couldn't find the right human, it would be disappointing, but not the end of it. A man-den or two would burn if she couldn't rend the red human.

As the crimson sun rose higher on the horizon, Taranis spotted a target as good as any.