The White Wolf of Westeros

by DrakeCross

The Wild Hunt is defeated and Ciri steps beyond to face the source of the White Frost. However something goes wrong and Geralt risks himself as he follows her, ending up in the land of Westeros. Dealing with new intrigue and politics, he will have to decide who he can trust while trying to save his adopted daughter...along with the lives of both worlds!

27. S2-E3: Grim Tidings

Chapter Twenty-Six: Grim Tidings

Forward: As always, credit for edits goes to Rainsfere and to Max000 for draft reading.

Robb Stark - The North – Winterfell – Nightfall - Seven Days Later

…

Robb read over the letter once more, this one written by Geralt which had just arrived tonight. A mix of emotions filled the young man, making his hand grip the paper tightly, threatening to crumble it up. He felt joy to know that his sisters were indeed safe, proving the royal letter claiming they were under Lannister 'protection' was false. What had him at the edge of tears was the news of his father being dead, fatally wounded during the escape from the trial that had turned into an execution. The royal letter only claimed his father had escaped, so either the Lannisters were lying again or they didn't know of what happened to his father.

"And now they're all under the care of Lord Stannis." His father's last letter had put the Baratheon as the true heir to the Iron Throne and full support to the man's claim. Beyond just common knowledge and rumor, Robb knew little of Stannis, only that he was a stern man with a strict sense of right and wrong, along with having taken on a foreign faith from Essos. He couldn't be sure if the man was the right one to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but right now he had his sisters under his care. While he hoped Stannis wouldn't be ruthless enough to threaten them, there was a nagging worry of such an outcome in the back of his mind. "What will he expect of me?"

Not long after muttering those thoughts, there was a knocking at the door before Maester Luwin entered. "Lord Robb…they are all gathered in the Great Hall and wait for you."

Robb was silent, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself. Right now he couldn't seem emotional nor weak to the gathering of Northern Lords. Right now he was the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, he had to show them all he had the strength to be their leader. "Then it is time." Picking up Geralt's letter, he'd shoulder his wolf fur cloak before leaving the office, Luwin following close behind on the long walk to the feast hall. Looking out the window, he would see honor guard that had come with the dozen lords who had arrived in the last few weeks, with far more camped around Winterfell's wall. Robb knew the men of the North would obey the call, yet even he didn't expect such a large show of force.

The arriving at the Great Hall, he could hear the yammer of deep voices as the lords talked amongst each other. Food and drink were plenty, yet little had been enjoyed considering the matter they had been invited for. Everyone quickly quieted down as he entered, countless gazes locked onto the young man as he'd pace around to the head table. Robb soon stopped once he had a full view of the hall, looking over everyone gather. The silence remained, until at last he'd speak.

"Lord Eddard Stark…the Warden of the North and my father…is dead…"

The declaration brought an uproar of voices, yells of anger and shock followed by demanding remarks. It was like a boom of thunder as dozens of fierce warriors snapped out.

"How is it possible!?"

"The Lannisters lied! They murdered him!"

"It was a mistake for Lord Stark to have left…to have trusted them!"

"Quiet all of you!" One voice spoke out, an older yet unyielding that brought silence once more to the hall. Everyone's gaze moved to a tall and gaunt man with thick graying hair and beard. Everyone recognized his House symbol, the white sun on black background, the mark of House Karstark. The Karstark was a cadet family to the Starks, who have always been loyal to them over a thousand years. Lord Rickard as always stuck to that loyalty. "When did you learn of this news and from whom?" The old lord formally questioned in a gruff manner.

"From a man you should all know very well, Geralt of Rivia." The name quickly drew more muttering as many knew about the Witcher, either from his encounters with the Wildlings or his exploits at the tournament in King's Landing. A few had even been at the Melee, being a guest or fighter, letting them personally see the Witcher's unmatched skill. "We all know how he intervened during the trial, trying to save my sisters and father. Eddard was fatally wounded during their escape, but at least it was better than under the blade of an executioner."

Lord Karstark nodded in agreement. "Hope he died fighting at least." The old lord gave a small growl of anger, these events no doubt reminding him of what happened to Robb's grandfather and uncle.

Someone else stood up from the tables, a pale skinned man with longer black hair and gray eyes. His expression the whole time was blank, lacking any hint of emotion. Robb had heard of Roose Bolton, a cold and calculating man whose House had long been a rival to the Starks, conflict having broken out between them in the ancient past. They were one of the strongest Houses in the North, but also one of most brutal considering their old history of torture and flaying their enemies, which they had supposedly abandoned long ago.

"I have a question of my own. Where is this Geralt and your sisters now? It's obvious they had outside aid in escaping King's Landing, someone who has much to gain in all of this." Roose calmly stated.

The last statement did have a small sinking feeling come to Robb. After all, Stannis was the rightful heir to the throne and right now he needed as much support of each ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He could easily use his own family to force Robb's submission…or force him into conflict. "Lord Stannis is the one who has taken my sisters under his protection. He owes that much since my father put his honor forward in supporting his right to the Iron Throne."

Everyone started to mutter about once more, sharing mixed feeling over this.

"What of Renly? I've heard he is staking his own claim and has a lot of support behind him."

"But he's the youngest! He has no right to the throne!"

"It's the Lannisters we should focus on, not the Baratheons!"

There were already hints of arguing building up but before they got out of hand, yet the loud slam of an iron flagon quickly had everyone become silent. Everyone's gaze focused on the man who stood up, being at least over seven feet tall and the most muscular man among the gathered lords. Lord Greatjon Umber, the man many proclaimed as the strongest in the North. House Umber's territory was the closest to the Wall, making them the first line of defense against any Wildling raiders that snuck over. Like the Bolton's, they had a history of being rivals with the Stark in ages past, yet they were now one of their most steadfast if boisterously fierce allies. Greatjon looked right at Robb, a strong look of judgment showing in those eyes as he sized up the young man.

"Here's what I think of our two 'kings'." The large man then thickly spat into the nearby firepit, the mix of thick ale still in his mouth making the flame flare slightly, drawing amused laughs and chuckles from most of the gathered lords. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither!" He'd pace about, as he spoke with such fierce passion. "Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood?" People nodded in agreement as he took pause. "Even their gods are wrong!" The added remark drew another round of laughter. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to and they are long since dead!" He'd turn to face Robb again, large hand pointing out towards him. "You may be Lord Eddard's son, yet how am I to know you'll have what it takes to lead us all in this coming war!?"

Northern independence has long been an ideal by most of the Houses of the North, ever since the days the Targaryens forced them under their rule. History showed that they had endured plenty of hardship with the countless conflicts that broke out, with the events before and during Robert's Rebellion taking a personal toll towards them.

"I question if you have the strength to lead us on the field since you haven't had the taste of a real battle, much less a true war. How can I…no…all of us be certain you have the will to face any hardship and put your people first"

Robb didn't answer at first, knowing he had to answer carefully towards Greatjon. House Umber had one of the largest number of bannermen, along with sizable influence with the minor Houses. If he didn't agree with Robb, the man could easily thin the North's numbers by a dangerous amount. He knew what he had to say to the man and show that he had the strength to be the new Warden of the North. He'd glanced at the letter in his hands, knowing right now this was a key moment that decide what would the course of the coming war.

"Lord Umber…" Robb approached the towering man, stopping once he stood before him. For a tense moment their gazes lock, both showing unyielding determination. "I understand if you doubt if I'm prepared for this war, but I've been preparing for this moment all my life." The young man's voice calm and carried stern command to it. "I won't let emotion dictate how I will act, vur I won't rashly make enemies like you suggest."

"Stannis can easily be an enemy to us. As you said he has your sisters, your father's remains and even your family sword. More than enough to try forcing you to bend the knee and submit to any demands he has." Greatjon remarked deeply back.

"Aye, he does, however I know he won't try to force me into alliance with him."

"Heh…are you that gullible to have such trust?" The mocking tone drew low voices of surprise as the older man spoke in such a way to Robb.

"No, I simply understand that Stannis needs the North more than you think, just as we need him more than you claim." Robb gazed around the hall, looking over everyone gathered. "The Lannisters already have a head start in this conflict. By now they'll be digging into the Riverlands and working towards forcing House Tully into submission or wiping them out. You all know how hard the battles in that region were during the Rebellion, only this time we have an enemy that won't make the same mistakes as the Mad King."

The reminder of that civil war had the voices quiet down and even Greatjon give a thoughtful look. None to deny how bloody that conflict had been, even if they tried to forget it all by focusing on the heroes and victories from that time. "So what do you expect us to do? Agree to serve alongside Stannis and let him rule us if he takes the Iron Throne?" Lord Umber question, speaking more formally for now.

"No…if there is one thing I do agree on it's the fact that our kingdom has faced too much hardship over the last few generations because of the southern Houses. The unity between us and the Iron Throne is faded, even more so with King Robert now dead." Robb paused for a moment to let those words sink in. "I plan to invite Stannis for a meeting at White Harbor, where he will return my sisters, father and Ice. I will offer an alliance to bring justice to the Lannisters and those who betrayed our trust towards them. When all is done, I will then press for the North to have independence."

The declaration drew a surprised look from Greatjon, easing away that judging stare he had been giving. Most of the gathered nobles seemed just as taken aback at Robb's promise, a mix of hope and doubt soon being silently shared. "What your suggesting won't be that simple, even if you show such confidence." Lord Umber muttered. "Stannis won't be swayed so easily, even if we hand the Iron Throne to him."

"Better to try diplomacy before throwing more lives away." Robb answered back. "That's why I need you at my side and all the Houses of the North." He'd hold out one hand towards the older lord, their gazes meeting once more. "Let's bring a stronger future for all the people of the North."

Greatjon chuckled, his amusement soon turning into a deep bellow before he'd strongly grasp the young man's arm. Both shook firmly, Robb showing quite the strength as Lord Umber gave a wide grin. "You got the same strength and spirit your father had at your age. You will have me and my bannerman at your side, though I will hold you to your oath this night."

"Good, I expect that of you."

Cheers filled the hall as everyone was pleased with this settled unity, a more boastful mood filling the air with food and drink was being enjoyed properly. Robb lead Lord Umber, Karstark, Bolton and the other major lords back to the main table to begin discussing plans. They had to march the main forces southward to get their own foothold in the Riverlands, along with trying to coordinate with the Houses in the region who were allies of the North. They had a lot of work ahead of them, yet the mood throughout the Great Hall showed pride and confidence for whatever may come.

…

Bran had been watching his brother give that grand speech, a small smile on his face as everyone seemed to be in full support for him. The boy was sitting in his wheel chair, having just been finished a few days ago after the best craftsmen of Winterfell constructed it under Maester Luwin's direction.

The chair could handle rolling outside, though muddy and rough ground made it difficult to move without someone pushing him. The back of it also had bolted leather straps, letting Hodor carrying him on his back like a pack to go upstairs or across rough ground. It was better than just simply being carried in the man's large arms.

"An historic day isn't it." Luwin muttered, as the maester sat down beside Bran with a tired sigh. "Haven't seen such unity between the lords since the Rebellion. It is a shame that war is the reason why this is happening though."

"It is…" Bran muttered. He was still shaken knowing what happened to his father yet…oddly he felt like he had known already. The odd expression on his face made Luwin glace at him with a concerned look on his face.

"You seem troubled Bran. Has sleep been difficult for you still?"

The boy shook his head after a moment, glancing towards the old man. "Just…thinking over what happened to father. How it happened…why it happened." He thought about Geralt, wondering if the Witcher was alright after all that had happened.

"Fate isn't kind to all of us Bran, even for good men like your father." Luwin put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to assure him. "You've suffered so much loss Bran, though you are a strong lad and will endure."

Bran nodded before glancing over to the head table, his brother deep in conversation with the major Lords. He knew that if his brother was going to be leading the war effort, that make him to manage Winterfell for a time. It seemed strange to have such a responsibly, a duty he'd shoulder with dedication and pride.

However Luwin was right about his dreams, they have been strange and almost life like. One dream had been with him walking once more and practicing archery in the morning, the yard being eerily empty as if everyone had disappeared from the Keep. The sound of a raven had alerted him, the black bird by the entrance to the family crypts. It kept cawing until he started to near it, yet once he got close the bird turned to face him, revealing a third eye set on its forehead. At that point he had woken up, but in the back of his mind he knew the strange raven was trying to guide him somewhere or tell him something.

Shaking his head, he'd glance at Luwin again who could tell the boy was distracted with his thoughts. "Just tell me if you have anything to talk about." Giving a small pat on the boy's shoulder, he'd get up and move to the head table, no doubt to advise Robb if needed.

Bran remained at his table, gaze a bit distant as he tried to clear his troubled thoughts. Beyond the troubled idea of war, he knew there was something worse lurking out there in the world. He could feel a chilling shadow from the south and on the nights, he roamed along Winterfell's walls, he swore the air was colder from the far north.

"Winter is coming…" He muttered to himself, knowing deep down things were only going to get worse.

…

The Riverlands – Fairmarket – The Next Day – Evening

Far to the south in the Riverlands, a different kind of meeting was about to take place. Fairmarket was one of the larger towns in the region, set quite close to the Trident just to the east, Riverrun to the west along with countless villages and holds all around. The place has constantly been on the edge of being a full-fledged city, with neighboring lords had constantly held the town back, seeing such a rise a threat to their own trade and wealth. Still, Fairmarket was a prosperous town which drew plenty of independent traders who often funded expansions and new businesses. While the Rebellion brought damages to the community, the twenty years had given them more than enough time to rebuild and grow.

On the eastern edge of the town was a large building that stood out from the others, mainly because the design was Northerner styled, looking like a drinking hall one could find in the North. Overall it had a welcoming look to it, the kind of place any weary traveler could get a strong drink and a clean warm bed for the night. The front of the hall had a large sign set above the heavy double doors leading in, surrounded by three large hallowed out drinking kegs set out it as decoration. The inn's name was the 'Three Kegs', a simple name that no doubt had a story to it.

Inside, the place kept to the Northern theme as the main room was a large hall which had large firepits and braziers set around to keep the room at a cozy warm temperature. Metal grills were set over some sections of the firepits, giving guests a means to cook any food themselves or keep a meal warm. Long tables and benches were set along the firepits in the inner part of the hall, while out towards the walls were booths and smaller tables for guests wanting privacy.

At the far end of the hall was a long bar with a mix of high chairs and bar stools to sit over two dozen people. The back of the bar had a wide selection of beer kegs and large bottles drinks from across Westeros and even Essos. Along the wall were a collection of trophies ranging from stuffed animal heads, pelts and weapons that the owner collected or donated by the patrons, sometimes to pay for expensive tabs they built up. At the center of the wall was a fine heavy crossbow on display, set low to be in reach for the lone bartender who was busy clearing up the last few patrons for the night.

Marcus set the last mug aside before rubbing over his gruff beard, giving a small sigh as he'd look over the near empty hall. "Slow night…" He muttered, having seen his usual customers slowly disappear as the week had gone by. He'd glance down to Garm, the half-wolf busy chewing up on the newest pile of bone scraps from his favored niched under the bar counter. "Going to be short on scraps for you." The innkeeper remarked to his canine companion. Garm whined slightly before continuing his chewing as the half-wolf got over the disappointing news.

"What did you expect Marcus? War is coming, and no one is planning to stick around." A usual patron chuckled from his stool before chugging down the last of his ale. "Everyone is packing up whatever they can carry and heading anywhere but here. Only those stubborn or too poor are remaining. The Riverlands are going to be flowing red in a week or so."

The Northern innkeeper didn't answer at first, giving only a small scowl as he'd collected the mug to hang up behind him. "Be simpler if the stubborn Lords dueled it out like in the old tales. Save us a lot of blood, sweat and tears." He grumbled.

"So what do you plan to do Marcus, going to hunker down with your family and shoot any soldier thinking to loot the place? You'd be better off moving to King's Landing."

"Rather die here than cramped in that dump of a city. I wasn't there when they sieged it back then, but I know how it bloody it was, especially for the common folk caught up in the Lannisters sacking."

The patron quieted down on that detail, glancing at his mug before sliding it over to Marcus. "Just looking out for ya mate." The man's gaze drifted to a woman with long brown hair who moved about clearing the tables of plates. She was a fair beauty in her early thirties, her figure slim under that deep green dress she wore. "You're a tough bastard Marcus, but you have to consider your family." The man set down the coin he owed and a bit extra. "Sevens fortunes to you Marcus. Hope I'll be able to come back here once this madness is over." With that, the man gave a short nod before strolling across the hall and out of the inn.

"Aye…so do I…" Marcus muttered, glancing over to his crossbow hanging behind him. One hand tapped across the bar top, hinting his restlessness as he wondered where his more shadowy companions where. "Zarin…taking your damn time getting here."

"Why are you mentioning him?" The woman questioned, holding up a stack of plates. Her blue eyes had a sharp look to him, judgmental and questioning, expected of an honest wife like her.

"Sandra…it's just him visiting for old times' sake." He started before the woman nearly slammed the plates onto the counter.

"You know how dangerous he is! Between his history and what he is capable of!"

"He'd never try to harm you or our daughter."

"That not what I'm worried about! Its more of what trouble he'll bring to us." She muttered back.

Marcus sighed deeply; head bowed slightly. "I owe him my life…heck he owes me his too. Without him we wouldn't have this inn even."

Sandra crossed her arms, turning about slightly as her husband made his defense. "I know. Just…I wish you didn't have to do it…putting your life on the line or having to hurt anyone."

"Things aren't that simple…you know that." He'd flip up the bar counter door to get to the other side, moving up to gently hold his wife's hands with his worn ones. "I've done my best to be a good and honest man…even it if means being hated for doing the right thing. I will keep to that path no matter what, for you and Merry." Leaning in, he'd share a tender kiss with her. "Even if all of Westeros threatens to crush us, I'll fight them all, tooth and nail for you."

Sandra blushed faintly, chuckling as he gave such a grand promise. One hand moved to caress his bearded cheek, her gaze softening. "I know." She sighed, before the main door opened suddenly. She and Marcus both looked over to see who was coming in at this hour and they quickly realized who.

It wasn't hard not to recognize Zarin as the old man walked in, his faded red robes and cap covering his thinning short cut black hair. He'd straighten out his clothes, no doubt having been riding for a long while to get here. Despite being at least into his mid-fifties, he had a tall stance and moved quite limberly, showing that time hadn't slowed him down since Marcus had last saw him.

Following behind him was his much larger traveling companion, Ogatto who'd stretched his broad shoulders about, shifting the large Arakh he had strapped over one. The Dothraki did draw some odd looks from the few patrons who looked at him, the copper skinned man not seeming to mind as he followed Zarin.

"Heh…Marcus. Seems you've kept this place in order last I last visited." Zarin chuckled as he approached the Northerner and his wife, who gave a short nod in greeting to them both.

Marcus smirked a bit before giving the old man a short hug and shaking hands firmly. "And you're staying fit it seems. Traveling seems to be doing good for your health." The innkeeper remarked.

"When you learn as much as I do, the limitations of age are…simple to understand." Zarin vaguely remarked before focusing his attention to Sandra. "Lady Sandra, looking as beautiful as ever." He even gave a short formal bow, though the woman didn't seem impressed.

"I hope this visit won't be like the last time." Her gaze did drift to Ogatto, the Blood Rider was busy petting Garm who had hurried over to the group and jumped up to lap at the man's chin in a friendly manner. Seeing the woman's sharp look towards him, he'd give a big grin towards her. Most would be nervous of someone like him, Shandra though seemed unfazed with the tall Dothraki warrior.

"I'm not bringing trouble this time, if that is what your suggesting." The Dothraki remarked.

"You had smashed nearly a dozen chairs and three tables after the fight you started."

The horse rider shrugged, seeming to find that memory casual. "Maybe those men shouldn't be so hateful to my people. Besides, Marcus got caught up in that."

"Wasn't going to let you and a dozen loggers destroy my inn." He grumbled, but he did have a faint amused smile remembering that brawl.

"The past aside, we have business to discuss." Zarin glanced about the hall, seeing a few of the lingering patrons had left since their arrival, though a few remained. "Mind if you close up the place?"

"What about the others?"

"Oh they'll be coming. I've…done my estimates and they will be all here tonight."

"Ah yes…your 'estimates'." Marcus muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

The alchemist gave a low chuckle. "Don't sound so doubtful, I've rarely been wrong."

Sighing, Marcus decided not to argue. "Fine, I'll get the stragglers out. It's also a good thing no one has taken any rooms for the night as well." Glancing to Sandra, he'd quickly add. "Please make sure the both of them get a fresh meal and whatever drink they want."

She'd nod before she and the two strange travelers moved to the bar counter, while Marcus strolled around the tables to convince the few people remaining to leave. It wasn't too hard considering the late hours and the fact most were simply locals. They respected Marcus and had a feeling there was something important going on. With the hall emptied, he'd head outside to get the large sign flipped to closed. As he'd glance around the road, he'd see a lone armored figure walking towards the inn, the low sun silhouetting the figure's large form.

"Keep forgetting he never rarely uses a horse." Marcus remarked as the figure neared.

The man was decked completely in a dull grey colored armor, worn by untold amount of time to have lost any hint of luster, making it look like it was made of stone instead of metal. The armor lacking any detailing features, being nearly smooth except for the expected bolts and leather work that kept it all together. Covering the man's head was a solid great helm, which had a wide visor letting him get a mostly full view in front of him, though it shadowed his features hidden under the helmet. At his hip was a large fanged mace, the weapon matching the man's overall grey armored appearance having the same color, though it was not aged like the armor and in fact finely crafted. Along his back was a heavy square shield, tough enough to stop any charging attacker in their tracks. Despite all that heavy gear, the man didn't seem tired or strained wearing so much.

"Marcus." The knight's voice was deep and clear despite the helmet, his tone unnatural calm even. The armored man's head looked over the Three Kegs, giving a short approving nod. "The place looks nice."

"Good to see you too, Ser Doric." Marcus remarked back as he'd give a friendly pat on the tall man's armored shoulder. Up close, Doric had the thick smell of herbs and armorers oil about him, making it impossible to tell if the man even sweated under all that plate. "No trouble on the roads, right?"

"Ran into Lannister soldiers along the King's Road…they questioned but didn't stop me."

"Doubt most people would try arresting someone like you." Marcus chuckled. "Anyway Zarin and Ogatto are already inside. I'm sure the old man has a lot to talk about with you."

Doric only gave a small 'hm' and nod before he'd move for the door into the hall, while Marcus followed in after him. The knights armored boots drew creaking stomps as they went across the tough wooden flooring, drawing both the alchemist's, Dothraki's and Sandra's attention. Marcus's wife gave a warm smile to the knight as she'd slip around the bar and walk toward him, giving a short hug over the man's broad chest.

"It's good to see you again Doric. Been following with your oaths I take?" She kindly asked as the man strolled towards the bar.

"Of course." The armored man again was vague and to the point with his answers, yet always speaking formally. "I visited Essos recently. Did honorable work around Slavers Bay, though hardly a scar to the cruelty there."

"Your sense of justice may be strong Doric, but not even you can dent the slave trade." Ogatto remarked, leaning back against the bar counter, taking a deep drink from his mug. "Slavery is outlawed here, yet the commoners are pushed and tormented by their lords as if they were slaves."

Doric glanced at the Dothraki, though no one could tell what gaze the man was giving towards the Blood Rider. "Compared to what I've seen in the east, this is better." He calmly stated.

"If all goes as planned, all the free folk of Westeros will live better lives." Zarin intruded before the two started debating. "There is a reason I recruited both of you. You're both wise in the ways of the world, having unique views points of it. Don't not let those views blind you to the broader scheme of things though." Pausing, he'd nod to Doric. "How is the armor doing for you? Have you been maintaining it and your wraps correctly?"

"Yes." Doric hardly changed his stance, his head just shifting to glance towards the alchemist.

"Good. I take you've also been keeping your unique supplies in check."

"Yes. The instructions you gave me have allowed wise men to restock what I need."

"Very good." Zarin stroked his short beard in thought before nodding. "I can inspect if you-"

"No. It isn't needed."

"As you wish." Still, the alchemist moved to his satchel, taking out small jars and offering it to Doric. "Still I trust my stock over anyone else. Use them."

Doric didn't argue, putting them in a belt pouch along his waist. "I need to change and eat for now. May I use one of your rooms Marcus?"

"Of course. The inn suite is yours, last door down the back hall." Marcus pointed down a wide hallway that was beside the hall, where all the guest rooms were set. There was another hallway on the other side, leading to the inn storage and Marcus's family rooms. "I'll have Sandra send food and drink to you."

"Thank you." Giving a short respectful nod, he'd move to hallways, though he stopped when he just glanced to the other hallway. He was still like a statue, seemingly not even breathing.

"Ugh…don't tell me he's dead now." Ogatto jested before he'd glance over to see where the knight was staring at. "Ah that's why."

"Merry! Why are you still up at this time!" Sandra hurried over as a young girl stepped out from her hiding spot around the doorway. She was only seven years old, having long messy chestnut brown hair and dazzling blue eyes, brighter than even her mother's. She wore a lovely deep blue summer dress, one she always enjoyed wearing even for bed time.

"But I wanted to see uncle Zarin!" Merry cutely whined, giving a short wave to the old man who gave a short friendly nod back to the girl. "Please! Besides…I've never seen a knight before too!" Her gaze looked to Doric, who hadn't moved an inch still.

Sandra sighed as she'd mutter something to Merry, the girl giving a small thankful grin before her mother let her hurry off to the alchemist. Zarin chuckled before leaning down to give the girl a hug and lift her up, having no trouble with her light weight. "Ugh! You've grown since last I visited." He chuckled, sitting back in one of the chairs and having the girl sit on one knee. "Been eating well and playing outside often?"

Merry nodded, wide eyes looking over Zarin's faded red robes, seeming curious on the vials he had carefully tucked away among straps and ties. "I help around the inn at times. Moving stuff and cooking." She'd rock a bit on his knee before giving a shy look. "So…do you have that one gift from before?"

"Oh…you mean this?" Reaching into his satchel, taking out something wrapped in thin paper. "You did love this when I last visited." With the wrapping removed, the girl gave an eager look seeing the honey nut treat, a rare sweet the alchemist had brought before. "It's a few days old, but I've kept it wrapped up to keep it fresh. A little time by a flame will warm it up nicely." He said before wrapping the treat up. "Promise you'll share it if old Marcus asks of some." He said in a teasing manner, mainly towards the innkeeper who chuckled in amusement.

"Promise!" Taking hold of the treat, she seemed to enjoy the honey scent it had as she held it close.

"Ah, but I do have one more gift." Holding up one hand, he'd turn it about to show his palm and the back of his hand before waving his fingers lightly. With a flick of his wrist, he closed his hand suddenly and then open it to reveal a gold coin to the girl.

"You did magic! Also…that's a gold dragon, we could buy…anything with that!" She'd glance at the coin and the old man's face, who'd nod show she could take it. Snatching the coin, she'd flip it about in her little hands, rubbing the worn markings across it.

"Right there you hold the real power of Lords and Kings, young Merry." Zarin chuckled as he'd carefully lift her off his lap and to stand on the ground. "Guard that coin closely for the day you'll need it."

"I will uncle Zarin!" She'd give a big thankful hug to him before glancing around to look for Doric, yet the knight had seemingly slipped away when she was busy with the alchemist. "Where did he go?"

"Ser Doric has traveled long on foot, little one." Marcus explained as he'd ruffle her messy hair lightly with one hand. "He needs rest and is quite shy despite his size."

The girl frowned, seeming disappointed. "Can I see him later?" A sudden idea came to mind as she'd unwrap the honey nut treat. With a little effort, she broke off a piece and handed it to her father. "Can you at least give this to him? Unless he…has an oath to not eat treats…"

"Heh, doubt he has taken one of those. I'll be sure to give it to him during the meeting." He promised as he took the piece from her.

Beaming, she'd give a happy hug to her father before Sandra moved up beside her. "Enough excitement for the night. Time, we get your room cleaned up before bed."

Merry gave a small nod before taking her mother's hand, letting her guide her to back to her own room, though she'd give a parting wave to everyone.

Ogatto chuckled after Sandra and her daughter were gone. "Nice to see such innocence. Never thought I'd see you play the family 'uncle', Zarin."

"I'm not that cold and heartless Ogatto." The old man scoffed as he'd pace around the bar, picking up his drink which he had set aside. "I did wish to have kids of my own. Alas…my work has kept that future from me."

"You…being a family man?" The Dothraki laughed deeply before taking a drink from his mug. "I can't see that from you, considering how ruthless you can be."

"Life has taught us all to be that way…why else did I pick everyone to be a Grim." Zarin calmly stated, the chilling fact making the Dothraki silent. "Yet philosophy and morality can debated later…we do have a meeting to start."

"We're still missing two." Marcus muttered. "I'd prefer that 'he' was excluded though…"

"Oh how touching of you Marcus." A faint voice chuckled out, making the Northerner glance about to see a dark cloaked man lodged back in one of the nearby booths. The cloak hood was pulled low over the man's head, though he tilted his head to just reveal his piercing green eyes. The man was clean shaven, revealing that along his left jaw and cheek there was deep long scarring, rough as if his face had been dashed across jagged rocks. It deformed his face slightly, giving it a sunken look to a degree, though it didn't muddle his speech in the slightest. The scarred man was at least into his early thirties, though his faded wound made him look slightly older. He was dressed in dark colored leathers, light agile armor suitable for his discrete line of work considering his slim toned build. Laid across the table was a black wooden bow and a quiver full of wicked barbed arrows. "I hope you didn't mind me lurking about. Didn't want to ruin the moment for your kid." He chuckled as he'd kick his boots up onto the table, stretching his body out in his seat.

"When did you get here?" Marcus questioned in annoyance, while Garm gave a warning snarl to him.

The Shadow just shrugged. "You should have noticed me sooner really. Seems you and your pet are getting soft over the years." His gaze looked over to Zarin. "Is there any point in keeping him around?"

For a moment, Marcus seemed ready to snap out, Zarin raising a hand up to silence the Northerner. "Marcus was the first of us and I trust him above all else. You will show him respect Shadow."

The assassin bowed his head slightly, no doubt to hide his annoyed expression. "As you wish." Shifting up, he'd get up from his seat in one fluid movement, along with snatching up his laid-out weapons with one hand. "So where is our last Grim? Is she trying to arrive fashionably late as always?"

"Last I spoke with Snake; she had gone south to Dorne for personal matters and for a special assignment." Zarin answered back. "If my sources are correct though, she has been seen around King's Landing not long before Lord Stark's fateful trial, so she'll have found my message for this meeting." With a small shrug, he'd move towards one of the long tables set in the middle of the hall. "For now, we'll begin once Doric has taken care of his personal needs."

"Ugh…I swear if he spends the next hour praying to the bloody Seven." The Shadow grumbled as he'd follow the alchemist to the chosen table, picking out a chair which he leaned back in before kicking his feet up onto the table like before.

"We all have our habits Shadow. The knight's traditions may seem pointless to you and me, but you have to respect his dedication to them along with the fact he's unwavering in battle." Ogatto commented, picking a seat across from the assassin.

The Shadow gave a grunt, seeming disinterested on the topic already as he'd take out a specialized sharpening knife and a small pouch which he set on the table. Digging into it, he'd take out an arrowhead which he'd start to sharpen, along with shaping serrated grooves as well. This just showed one of the assassin's first steps in creating his cruel and lethal weapons.

Marcus took a seat beside Ogatto while Zarin took his place at the table end to overlook everyone. Garm moved to lay between the Northerner and Dothraki, the Blood Rider having one hand go down to scratch the half-wolf's head. The alchemist riffled through his pack, taking out his black leather-bound journal, a large detailed map of Westeros and the coast of Essos along with a stack of tied up papers. By now Sandra had returned from tucking Merry to bed, setting out the group's drinks and dinner. She did look to the Shadow who only glanced at her, giving him a cold look showing she didn't welcome his company. The assassin didn't seem to care the slightest though, continuing shaping his arrowheads.

"So how was the road northward?" Marcus questioned Ogatto have a moment of silence. "I take you were ahead of the Lannister soldiers."

"Pretty much. We could see Lannister forces already marching in when we took some time to scout. Seems the 'Lord Regent' has been quick to get his forces entrenched in, though he'll no doubt be getting the Riverland Lords on edge."

"Lord Tywin knows he's outnumbered…but considering his history, he no doubt has a solid plan in mind to even the odds."

"So who are you betting on winning?"

"Heh…would it be wrong that I favor the North? You know how my people get when someone pisses us off."

Ogatto gave a deep laugh and nodded in agreement. "Having seen how you fight…I can say you make a fair point."

"This war won't be that simple friends, especially with us doing our work in the background." Zarin muttered, the old man busy writing in his journal. "This is the right time…the moment all of us have been waiting for."

Before anything could said, a door slammed from the guest rooms, followed by the deep step of Doric. The knight walked into the hall, still fully dressed in that heavy armor as he'd move for the table. He did pause though to grab one of the larger chairs set around, made of thick wood and reinforced with metal even. Setting it down to be beside the Shadow, he'd sit down which drew a low creak from the chair, showing even it strained under his weight. There was a short pause as all gazes were on Doric who'd glance over to Zarin.

"Shall we begin?" He simply asked.

The alchemist nodded before he'd slide over the pile of sheets, which on closer inspection were official notices ranging from the public declarations Lord Eddard had given, listed bounties and official decrees from the last few weeks. "First, a review of the last month. For one I will be open to the fact that I and Ogatto were involved on the attack on the late King Robert a month ago during his hunt."

"Heard about that one." Marcus muttered. "The notices claimed it was 'Targaryen loyalists' who were striking out in the name of Daenerys and Viserys."

"Be hard to plan such a move for the brother considering he's been dead for quite a while." Doric remarked, drawing curious looks from the others. "Last I heard he threatened his sister in Vaes Dothrak, drew a sword before Khal Drogo himself."

Ogatto grinned at the news. "Oh this is going to be good. Drogo always was creative with his executions."

"From what I heard, Viserys got the crown he wanted…being a pot full melted gold poured on his head."

The Blood Rider laughed out while the Shadow chuckled a bit in sadistic amusement. "Serves the entitled brat. Bet everyone wanted him dead." The assassin muttered.

"One Targaryen left at least." Marcus muttered, showing he too had little love for the exiled royals.

"An interesting bit of news." Zarin crossed a name out in his journal before writing a bit more. "What else is there to share?"

"When I was leaving there had been news that Khal Drogo had died." Doric answered back.

"No! How…how did that happen!?" Ogatto snapped out, standing up suddenly from his seat. "There is no one in all of Essos who could best Drogo!"

The Shadow had a curious look in his eyes, having never seen the Blood Rider react in such a way. "What, were you two tentmates or something?" He jested.

"I was one of his Blood Riders if you have forgotten." The Dothraki growled, making that mocking look quickly fade from the assassin. "Even before he had become a Khal, I rode loyally with him and saw just how unmatched he was in battle."

"From what I had heard he had gotten an infected wound, though how that happened I do not know. It was not properly treated and thus he died. His horde had disbanded, and his wife Daenerys disappeared into the Red Wastes."

Ogatto trembled in anger, growling in frustration as he'd slam both fists to the table and mutter in Dothraki. Everyone but Zarin was confused over what he was saying, but the alchemist spoke up.

"You can calm yourself Ogatto." The old man calmly spoke.

The Dothraki gave a sharp look to the alchemist, almost seeming ready to lash out at him. "You don't understand. He was my people's greatest potential…having the cunning and open mind to bring us to a new era!"

"Then why did he abandon you then?" Zarin calmly stated, making the Dothraki's expression of anger quickly fade.

"It is not that simple."

"I can imagine that friend." Marcus muttered back, making the tribal warrior glance to him. "You've never told me the full story of your past despite all our years working together. Perhaps it's time to tell it to us."

"Oh this is going to be good." The Shadow chuckled.

Ogatto was silent, fingers tapping across the tabletop tensely. Zarin would give a deep sigh and spoke up. "While it would be good for all of us to share our pasts openly, we can't let that distract right now." The calmly spoke out. "Let's save our stories for another time."

After a moment, the Dothraki gave a short nod of agreement before sitting down, giving a sigh as he'd calm down for now.

"Ugh…spoil sport…" The Shadow grumbled before resuming his arrow sharpening.

"So going back on the opening topic, I have to ask who hired you to kill the king?" Marcus questioned, getting the meeting back on track.

"Five gold dragons on Queen Cersei." The Shadow quickly threw out with a smirk, drawing a few glances. "What? If there is anyone who has more reason to get fat Robert murdered, it'd be her."

"If we were betting, you'd be right Shadow, Cersei Lannister hired us using a squire from her family. The assassination had to be set up to look like a Targaryen loyalist attack during his hunt, something to pin on the two over in Essos. Course that meant having to get a bunch of amateur sellswords instead of some professionals considering we had only a few days before the hunt."

"Why did you take the request then? Seemed below your usual standards." Marcus questioned. "Out of all of us I know you disliked Robert the most, yet even you wouldn't make an attempt without being certain you'd succeed."

Zarin gave a small chilling grin before nodding. "You'd be right. If I had wanted Robert dead that day it would have been simple to just blowing up his tent or slipping poison into his wine. Cersei thought she was being cunning with her plan…so short sighted." The old man had one hand stroke along his short beard. "What interested me though was a secondary request she had, killing Geralt of Rivia."

"The Witcher, Westeros newest most wanted?" The Shadow had a greedy look hint his eyes as he'd draw out a wanted poster, with a roughly accurate drawing of the scarred warrior. "Wanted dead or alive for…well…practically every crime I can think of. Course what makes this bounty worthwhile is the twenty thousand gold dragons."

"Seven, that's a fortune indeed." Marcus muttered.

"Considering that grand escape from King's Landing and breaking that brat's hand, I'm surprised it isn't more." The Shadow chuckled a bit. "Anyway, I take Geralt made your assassination attempt complicated?"

Zarin nodded in response before he'd detail the events of the attack, from how they had been signaled by the Lannister squire, to wiping out the guards with a barrage of arrows and the following battle. Considering his honed memory, Zarin had no trouble detailed every aspect of Geralt's adaptive sword technique and other weapons such as bombs much like his own.

"I knew the best chance to…eliminating him was to get him into a situation where his guard be down. Lucky, the sellswords were fearful enough to surrender, giving me a perfect chance to throw a bomb between them."

"Obviously that didn't work." Marcus remarked. "But I know you never miss when it comes to using your explosives and other concoctions effectively, so this Geralt must've some trick to survive."

"More than just a trick really." Zarin paused as he'd look over at his fellow Grims. "Tell me, do you believe in the possibility of magic?"

"I've seen my mix of wisemen, witches and warlocks in Essos. Most are frauds who know how to fool people with the same knowledge you have…though at times I've seen some do unexplainable if minor things." Ogatto answered. "One group I can say has true power be the Faceless Men, though perhaps their perfect and deadly reputation makes them seem that way."

Doric simply nodded in agreement with the Dothraki's answer, though said nothing.

"Heh, seem my share of so-called mages and the like, all claiming to be untouchable. Turns out they aren't, at least when I'm one testing them." The Shadow darkly chuckled.

Soon all gazes were on Marcus who was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed as he was deep in thought. "I'm not a superstitious man, despite what most think of Northerners. Between the myths of the Old Gods and the oddities I've seen in Essos…" He'd shrug. "Anything is possible. However I only trust what I can see with my own two eyes."

Zarin nodded, seeming pleased hearing his companions' opinions. "Then I will admit, this Witcher has some real magical power about him. Before the explosion I saw a him flex his fingers in a certain manner before a shimmer of light showed around him. Whatever it was shielded him from the blast which should have ripped him apart like the sellswords. The blast still flung him far, doing little more than bruising him. In a few moments he was back on his feet and seemed only winded."

"Seems more like luck was on his side that day." The Shadow remarked, seeming to let his arrogant habits get the better of him.

"Careful Shadow. Talk that foolish to our leader and he'll have to add another scar to what's left of your face." A smooth female voice spoke, her tone having an exotic accent hinting her words. All gazes looked in that direction to see their final guest, a lone slender figure dressed in a tanned wrap around cloak of Dornish style standing in the shadowy door way of the inn.

"Ugh…why does half the group need to sneak in. Ever heard of knocking?" Marcus grumbled in a guff jest.

The woman gave a charming chuckle hearing the innkeeper's joke before walking out into the light. Her skin was revealed to be a deep olive color, an obvious sign of her being from the exotic kingdom of the far south. Sliding back her hood, letting the group see her short cut black hair and her fair face fully. She was a woman nearing her thirties, face having sharply shaped jawline and nose, giving her a graceful appearance. There were faint hints of a scar at the lower right of her jaw and cheek, the skin being a lightly color there, though it did little to mar her beauty. What was most striking were her deep dark blue eyes, making her gaze seem nearly black in color. Under that cloak, she wore a fine set of scale like leather armor, custom fitted to shape over her slender figure and alluring curves. While the chest piece was short sleeved, she had plain colored silken clothing underneath for comfort and light protection. It was easy to tell that she was at peak fitness for her age, her body toned to have the perfect balance of strength and agility. In her right hand, she carried a long staff wrapped completely in tanned leather, though the pointed end hinted it wasn't a normal walking stick.

"We live dangerous lives, good Marcus. Even here I had to consider the possibility of a trap." The Dornish woman answered back, approaching the Northerner before gently caressing his bearded cheek. "Still, it is nice to see you after so many years…seeing all of you in fact."

Ogatto gave a small chuckle as he'd get up from his seat and move towards the woman, his strong arms wrapping around her waist to draw her close against him. "Hmm, I can say it's been torturous for me. You should have let me come with you."

"I know you'd follow me to the ends of the world my dear Blood Rider, however this was a personal matter for me." She'd lean in to steal a short passionate kiss with the man, easing the Dothraki's imposing image for that moment as he returned it.

"Ugh…get a room you two…" The Shadow muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

"We very well might. Don't be jealous now Shadow." The Dorne woman teased as she'd move over to Ser Doric, the grey armored knight standing to greet her. "And how has my knight of stone been after so long."

"The same as always Lady Ayla, following my duties and vows." He formally answered, giving a short bow with what freedom his heavy armor allowed. "Have your travels been safe? You aren't welcome in Dorne after all."

"The only people who care about me visiting my home Kingdom would be my family. I know how to avoid their attention; else I'd be enjoying a dusty prison cell or the headsmen axe." She replied before looking to Zarin. The alchemist had been silent as she'd greet her fellow Grims, though the old man had a fond look to the woman and a small welcoming smile.

"It's been a long time indeed Ayla." He'd shift up in his seat to give a warm hug to her, getting even an affection kiss to the cheek from her. "It's good you arrived, though I imagine you have been listening in for a while."

She'd nod in response before pulling up a chair to sit between Zarin and Ogatto. "I was curious to see what you all thought about this Witcher and recent events. Overall it seems this is the right moment to bring some real change to Westeros."

"Glad you agree. I value your insight when it comes to politics and without you we won't be able to bring true unity and freedom to this divided country." Zarin stood up from his seat, riffling through his red robes for a moment to take a small item out, though kept it hidden in his grasp. "Of course we do have some formality to do now that we're all gathered."

"Ugh…do we have to? The Shadow argued. "We know our titles and roles already. Why bother?"

"Formality and discipline. Traits you lack Shadow." Doric calmly stated, drawing an annoyed growl from the assassin.

"This may very well be our last meeting as Grims. Can't hurt to follow one tradition we have." Marcus added.

"Fine. Then let's get it over with." The Shadow reached into a pocket hidden in his leather garb, taking out a worn gold dragon coin, the metal black and having no luster to it. "The Grim of Shadows." He simply muttered, setting the coin on the Westerlands region.

"Will you ever bother saying your real name during that?" Ogatto questioned.

"No."

The blunt answer had the Dothraki shrug before taking out his own trinket, an ivory piece carved in the shape of a horse head. "Ogatto the exiled. Grim of the Red Wastes." He'd set his piece on edge of Essos.

Marcus had his turn now, taking out a weirwood carving of a snarling wolf head similar to House Stark symbol. "Marcus Ryen of the North. The Grim of the Hunt." He stated before setting his piece on the North.

Doric was next as he'd take out a piece of chiseled obsidian hidden around his neck; the piece shaped like a clenched fist. "Ser Doric of the Black Isle. The Grim of Stone." He spoke in that deep even voice before setting his piece on the Stormlands.

Alya took out a bronze pendent she had tucked around her neck, the symbol being a red sun with a spear pierced though it. "Alya Sand, exile of the Sand Snakes. The Grim of Vipers." Her piece was then settled on Dorne.

Then lastly was Zarin, who drew a black wood trinket shaped like a skull. "Zarin, the Red Alchemist. The Grim of Schemes." He'd lastly set his piece on top of King's Landing, a faint smile hinting his lips. "Let us continue our meeting then now that formality is done." Everyone sat down once more before the alchemist continued to speak. "Now there is one matter I wish to ask of you Shadow. Considering Robert's and Eddard's deaths, I want to know if you had a hand in them. I know you were in King's Landing at the time and their…passing is fitting of your skills."

"Well I can say I didn't get a chance to target Robert, though I know who killed the fat bastard. In fact, his killer was the same person who hired me to assassinate Eddard Stark." The Shadow answer, his tone having a calm boastfulness to it.

Across from him Marcus gave a low growl of anger. "You shouldn't be proud of that. If there was a good lord in this land Eddard was the one. He cared about the people and could have been more useful alive."

"If he was such a good person then why does he let the likes of the Boltons rule in the North? He was a soft Warden, too fearful to take action after the Rebellion." The Shadow countered back.

For a moment Marcus seemed ready to lunge at the man, making Ogatto place one hand on the Northerner's shoulder to keep him in his seat. Garm below the table growled a bit, only amusing the assassin.

"Enough arguing you two." Zarin spoke up, stopping any more argument. "I understand you have a respect and sense of loyalty to Eddard; however Shadow does have a point. Eddard was doomed to die, be it from his sudden execution, in the chaos of his rescue attempt or by some other means."

"Maybe…" Marcus muttered, still having a hateful glare at the assassin. "So you hired you then? Tell me that at least."

"Heh, gladly. Petyr Baelish 'Littlefinger', Lord of the Fingers and current Master of Coin. A minor lord who has made some quite impressive grabs for power and riches. I also believe he planned Robert's poisoning as well."

"And how did you figure that out?"

"Simple, I bluffed and saw how he reacted. 'We know what you did' is a perfect line to get the cowardly and guilty to cringe."

"Then I'll be sure to get some real answers from him if I ever meet the man." Marcus muttered darkly, showing for the first time in quite a while, a vicious side to him few rarely saw.

Zarin glanced over his journal for a moment, seeming curious about Littlefinger. "He has his ties in money lending and minor criminal sources. Quite well informed, though quiet by the looks of it." He'd write down something into the log before speaking. "We'll keep an eye on him. He could be useful or a risk to our great goals."

"So then, what will be our roles during this civil war? I know that you and Alya will no doubt have work to do in King's Landing and then farther south within Dorne." Doric calmly questioned.

"You'd be correct. It's time we put our decades of connections and influence to full use." His gaze moved to Alya, who had a small knowing smile across her fair lips. "Do you have enough support with the nobles of Dorne?"

"Enough sway after all these years. I have plenty of eyes and ears within Sunspear, enough to know of my father's and uncle's plans." She'd give a small smirk as she'd lean over the table, eyeing the map closely. "They focus on petty vengeance over what happened to my aunt twenty years ago. I'll admit their plans are cunning, though to delay for so long shows they are overcautious to take action."

"Thankfully Dorne will soon have a new leader with the will and ambition the kingdom has lacked for so long." The alchemist commented back before looking back to the rest of his companions. "As for the rest of you, you'll all remain within the Riverlands. There are plenty of matters to take care of for both the Lannisters, Tullys and the Starks once they begin to make their first moves. However the Witcher is to be a priority for us."

"Do you want him dead?" The Shadow questioned as he looked over his copy of the Witcher's dossier.

"No, I want him alive. His value is beyond anything you can imagine. However you cannot simply rush against him, since we do not know fully of what he is capable of."

"So spying then, makes sense considering." Marcus muttered as he'd look over the map. "He'll no doubt take a role on the warfront in time. Plenty of chances to see what he can do."

"He'll be a worthy challenge indeed." Doric added, nodding his helmeted head slightly.

"Study every aspect of him, learn who his allies are, what possible weakness be they physically or mentally. I expect steady reports on whatever is learned along with his actions across the region. When I feel we are ready, we will attack as one and outmatch him like we have against countless others."

"I hope it is soon then." Ogatto said with a grin, a wild thrill just hinting his gaze.

Marcus nodded, though there was a troubled look hinted his gruff face. "Zarin, there is one local matter I wish to talk about…involving someone I ran into about a week back." The alchemist gave a curious look before nodding to let the Northerner continue. "I ran into a young man when I was getting supplies for the Three Kegs, a bright lad from Raventree Hall named Hadrian Rivers. He alone, escaped an attack on a search party he was with."

The name shared had a rare show of surprise in the older man's eyes, which he quickly hid as he'd glance his gaze down in thought. "Interesting…what exactly happened."

"The boy was sent with a House knight and soldiers to investigate rumors of small villages and travelers disappearing within the last month. Heard of the gossip myself early on myself, thinking it was simply bandits or people leaving early when the whispers of war were heard." Marcus had a serious look as he'd stare right into man's calm gaze. "His group headed to High Heart, an old ritual site you no doubt studied in the past. When the search party neared, he claimed they were attacked by trio of…witches."

Ogatto and the Shadow both gave low chuckles of amusement at the claim, though Alya and Doric seemed curious. Zarin's expression didn't change though, remaining neutral yet attentive. "So a trio of witches. How exactly did they kill off such a well-armed group?" He calmly questioned.

Marcus detailed Hadrian's full story about the encounter, hiding nothing when he spoke about the more magical aspects the boy had seen. He'd continue on to include the attack they had also faced against the ghoul, which even he admitted had been a close call considering the creature's fierce and unnatural nature. By now the assassin and Dothraki had stopped their low jesting, both knowing that Marcus wasn't one to lie or exaggerate.

"Monsters and crones. I'd call anyone else mad, but I know better than to say that to you." The Shadow sighed.

"This can be a troublesome matter." Alya added before looking to Zarin. "Perhaps the others can investigate this High Heart, learn just who these 'witches' are."

"They can easily be a wild card to the coming war, magic or not." The alchemist muttered, pausing for a moment in thought. "If you feel this is worth looking into, I will respect your choice, though don't take any risks."

"Heh, we all know better than to rush off against an unknown enemy. We'll be cautious and be sure to report what we find." However before anything else could be said, Garm shifted from where he lay, his head snapping to the entrance way of the inn hall. The half-wolf growled deeply, making everyone look to the heavy doorways. "We have company it seems. You did lock the door behind you when you snuck in right?" The innkeeper questioned Alya.

"Of course."

There soon be a hard knock on the inn door, which repeated after a long pause, though stronger this time. The Grims gave odd looks to each other, except for Zarin who seemed relaxed in his seat. "Marcus…let them in."

"More of wondering who is 'them'." The Northerner questioned before there was another round of heavy knocking and muffled voices outside. "Wait, did you let someone follow you?"

"A loose end. Trust me on this Marcus."

Giving a small growl of annoyance, he'd glance to the bar where Sandra was, the woman having a concerned look as the knocking and yelling grew. "Sandra, go to our rooms and lock the doors up. You know what to do if trouble comes."

The woman sighed, seeming annoyed at what was happening, yet understood as she'd nod. "Be safe then…" She'd move to head to the right side of the hall and to the private rooms but stopped to quickly speak out. "Also I swear if you make a mess of the hall…I expect all of you to clean it up!" With that warning given, she'd slam the door shut.

"Quite the woman you have Marcus." The Shadow chuckled in a mocking manner.

"You best heed her warning. That woman will thrash you, assassin or not." The innkeeper warned before there was a bang at the door.

"OPEN THE FUCK UP!" An annoyed voice yelled outside, piercing through the thick wooden door.

Sighing, Marcus gave one last stern look to Zarin, but the old man had a small amused smirk on his face. Making sure he had his trusty hunting knife tucked away under his work apron, Marcus hurried to the door. "Who are you? Can't you see we're closed?" He spoke out through the door, though he'd move to shift a wooden piece to look through a hidden peephole outside. With the sun low it was hard to see, though he could see it was a group of men dressed a variety of differing armor and sheathed weapons.

"Just a group of sellswords needing a quick meal and drink for the road." The man at the front spoke out, a gaunt scruffy man with a crooked grin. "So you can let us in and get a few coins for your trouble…or we kick this door down."

"Alright alright…" Marcus muttered, working the locks to open the doorway. He was on guard as he had one hand close to his knife, but the mercenaries didn't try to attack him as the filed in. There were fourteen men who were from all parts of the world as the innkeeper recognized differing Westerosi, Dothraki and from varying Free Cities. Each had different dyes coloring their armor and hair to represent their homeland or culture, making them a quite colorful bunch. What was notable though was the band all of them had shown off on their arms, shoulder or chest, a small white patch with a black goat with red horns being their banner mark. "Brave Companions…" He whispered, just being overheard by the group leader, who up close was in fact a Northerner.

"Hah, glad to see someone recognize us." The man chuckled before slinging one arm around Marcus's shoulder, partly tugging the innkeeper into the hall. It took Marcus a lot of self-control to not twist the man's limb off of him. "Surprised to see a fellow kinsman so far south, much less an innkeeper in this corner of the Riverlands."

"Life is full of surprises." Marcus muttered, obviously not amused though the sellsword either didn't notice or care.

The man's chuckling, though it was cut short when he saw Marcus's companions standing or sitting at the central table. "Well well well…seems the circus has come to town." The rest of the men laughed at the jest, though none of the Grims showed any amusement.

Doric would tense up when he saw the black goat emblem on the men, a low grumbling coming from him "Bloody Mummers…murdering scum…"

The Brave Companions, while a younger mercenary company, already had quite infamous reputation. They were brutal towards captives and enjoyed pillaging helpless villages whenever work was short. The Companions also were amusingly not that brave despite the name, seeming to favor battles where they had the larger numbers or going against lesser foes. Despite that though, they had become successful on both sides of the Narrow Sea.

"Rude of you to use that lowly nickname and say such lies." The mercenary leader answered back dismissively while letting his arm off Marcus, so he could go get drinks for the sellswords. The group began to settle down at a nearby table, seeming eager to relax back after a long trek. "So what brings you five here to the Riverlands? Seeking mercenary work as well?"

"What makes you think that?" Alya coyly asked as she'd stare back, her gaze alluring yet having a predatory gleam to it.

"Because all of you are quite well armed for simple travelers…except the old man who I take is your leader, the brains of the group." The Northerner noted. "Don't let my gruff appearance fool you, I was picked to lead this group because of my sharp wit and perception."

"Interesting…then I'll admit you are correct." Zarin calmly answered back.

"Curious. I wonder how a small band like you plan to get involved in an all-out war. Smaller groups usually stick to smaller conflicts."

"You could say we're specialists." The Shadow remarked, giving a quite chilling grin that had the sellsword leader shiver slightly. "A group of misfits all with a common cause you could say."

Chuckling, the sellsword leader took a deep drink from his mug. "I feel like I'm getting more questions than answers from all of you."

"Then how about we ask one." Ogatto replied back with a small smirk. "What does the Brave Companions plan to do in this conflict?"

"Simple. Work for whoever will pay the highest." One of the men laughed out.

"Already sent notices to both sides, putting our starting price out. They'll no doubt want a small army like ours since we're in the heartland of the region." Another added.

"Whoever pays up first means we can start raiding their enemy and pick at their smaller defenses. Maybe we'll even snag a fort for ourselves."

"Bet the Lannisters will pay the most. Gold haired bastards toss coin around like it's nothing."

The mercenaries yammered about, though the group leader kept a close eye on the others, manly at Zarin. "That isn't the only reason why we're here though…isn't that right boys?" The men quickly quieted down, a sudden discipline about the noisy men. "See, we were sent out from the main force to look for two individuals who caused us a bit of pain a while back. An old man in red and a half-blind Dothraki."

There was a tense pause at that point, the cheerful side that the sellswords had not fully gone. Marcus was still by the bar, eyes narrowed as he could see how everyone shifted where they sat or stood, readying to rush forward or reaching for a weapon. Everyone except the mercenary leader and Zarin who had locked gazes right then.

"So then…why is the Brave Companions going so far to hunt an old man like me and a lonesome Dothraki?" Zarin casually asked despite the tension in the air.

"Oh the usual…fucking with us." The man remarked, though his last words had a hateful tone suddenly mixed in. "Was a mistake for our men to join such a risky job to kill King Robert, even though the payment was quite high." The man shrugged slightly. "Course, you had to go as far and kill a few of them. We were all surprised when one of our men returned to us crawling, face half melted nearly to the bone. Kept moaning about a red robed man and half blind Copper Skin backstabbing them before dying in the next hour."

Again there was a long pause. "So why not attack us on the road?"

"The boss had a feeling you were part of a larger group, wanted us to follow to take care of everyone. Why take down just two when we can wipe out the whole group." At this point the men still sitting started to stand up, a few giving eager grins as they knew a fight was coming. "Oh and Marcus…sadly you'll have to die too. Can't have any witnesses. Nothing personal."

The innkeeper was silent as he'd stand by the bar, giving a harsh gaze back at the sellsword.

"So then…any final requests before we end this?"

"More like a challenge." Ogatto suddenly spoke up as he'd set forward to be between the two groups. "I'll let one of you get the first blow on me, Ogatto, the White Eye Rider…the Grim of the Red Sands!"

The boasting titles drew some odd looks from the sellswords, though the claim of being a Grim drew a few low laughs. "A Grim? The boogeymen of Westeros? Their a fucking myth!" One of the men snapped out, a fellow Dothraki. "Though I do know that other title…one reviled by all of the Khalasars across the Great Grass Sea." He'd then spit at Ogatto's feet, the Blood Rider only smirking back from the insult.

"What did he do exactly?" The group leader questioned.

"He questioned then broke our traditions, insulted the Khals and disgraced himself in battle. Worse…in false mercy, he murdered a Khal in cold blood along with his horse. There is no greater insult then that!"

Ogatto gave a low chilling chuckle, making the sellswords flinch in shock from it. That one pale eye having a glare of life show in it for that moment. "I did all of that to make a point. For our people followed men who are blind to our weakness, thinking we are feared when we are in fact an annoyance to the Free Cities. We are no longer destroyers of civilizations, just petty raiders of villages."

"Enough!" The Dothraki sellsword growled out, drawing a large knife from his belt. "I'll rip out your heart for the Khals to feast on!"

"Then come get it."

With that final dare given, the Dothraki lunged out lightning fast, his fellow men cheering him on. The other Grims stood by silently as they watched the scene, seeming unworried as their companion had left himself completely defenseless for a stab to the chest. As the knife reached over his heart, there be a clang as the metal tip suddenly rebound off the bloodrider's chest. The Dothraki yelled out in shock, seeing that the knife tip had even broke off from the impact.

"How-?!" He'd see it now through the ripped fur and leather, a hint of metal. It was a breastplate, copper tinted and without any luster, making it blend well under Ogatto's tribal garb and deep colored skin. At that point the Dothraki realized his fatal mistake as he saw the Blood Rider's murderous grin.

"My turn." Suddenly both hands slammed to the side of the man's head with a resounding slam. The impact had the man yell out in pain as his ears were ringing, dropping his broken dagger from the powerful blow. Strong fingers then dug into the man's face, the thumbs digging into the eyes as the Dothraki's yelling soon became horrible screams. Ogatto gave a fearsome roar as his large arms bulged, body tensing as he'd then twist the man's head completely to the side. The screaming ended with a deep crack and a gurgling grunt as the Dothraki's neck was snapped, his head lolling about as Ogatto let go of him to fall limply to the ground.

"KILL THEM ALL!" One of the Brave Companions yelled in anger, the group quickly drawing their weapons to attack. Their leader though didn't rush in like the others, hanging back as he seemed to realize just how dangerous the strangers were.

Ogatto gave an eager laugh as he drew his Arakh off his shoulder strap, hefting the large curved blade with ease in one hand. "Join me Alya. Let's give them the dance of death!" The man roared out as he'd give a sweeping swing at the first sellsword to reach him, the scythe like blade and inhuman strength cutting deeply into his side. The man screamed and struggled in pain before being silenced as the Blood Rider withdrew his weapon and drove the long-spiked hilt into the man's forehead. The brutal kill drew surprised yells from the nearby men, shaken by the Blood Rider's brutal skill.

"With pleasure." Alya chuckled, the leather wrap around her spear quickly thrown aside to reveal the fine weapon. The shaft of the spear was a deep red, with the bottom end having a metal cap fitting for a quarterstaff while the top end had a sharp spear head. The razor end was elegantly designed, having a bronze snake coiled around the upper shaft and lower end of the spear head base.

With a few quick strides, she'd lunge into fray and stab a mercenary through the chest, the fine steel piercing through cheap chainmail with ease. The man gasped and coughed up blood as she'd twist the spear inside of him before withdrawing, body twisting away in a graceful summersault. Soon she and Ogatto were back to back, the two fair skinned warriors working together to protect each other's flanks. They were outnumbered, though only so many of the sellswords could surround and attack them at once. Plus, their long reaching weapons preventing the men from attacking as one in an overwhelming attack.

Alya spun her spear about, striking the blunt end of the weapon into the ribs of one warrior before lashing out with the spear blade to slice across another man's shoulder. Painful injuries, though not enough to kill them. Ogatto was more aggressive, giving wide arching swings that could easily cleave a man in two. One Brave Companion got too close and soon had that Arakh sinking deep into his shoulder and halfway into his chest before being punched across the face, forcing him off the blade and tumbling dead onto his reeling companions.

"Back away and form up! Defensive now!" Their leader yelled out, trying to rally his men. They'd quickly back away from the Blood Rider and Sand Snake, both watching the sellswords armed with shields set up a protective formation. "Now press forward. Don't break the line!" The group advanced, shoving and kicking any tables or chairs out of the way as they'd approach Grims.

"Your turn Doric." Ayla stated, the armored knight having gotten up when the fighting began.

He had his large shield and mace out, both heavy weapons which he carried with ease. Stomping forward to be in the path of the sellswords. "Your defense is flawed. No united pattern." The man deeply stated as he'd shift his stance out, left side forward and shield out.

"Don't back down. Overwhelm him!' The Brave Companion captain spoke out, drawing a determined yell from the group.

The shield wall closed in on Doric, the knight keeping his forward stance. Suddenly his shield arm lashed out in a short powerful bash, aimed at the joining point of two mercenary shields. The lack of proper bracing made both men stagger back, leaving them and their companions just behind them exposed. Flowing from the bash, Doric's mace crashed downward onto one shield man's head, caving half of it in as gravity and pure strength pulverized flesh and bone.

"Force him back damnit!" The group obeyed, weapons and shields lashing out at Doric, the man not even move an inch as the group counter attacked. His shield blocked most blows from the left while his braced stance let him ward off attacks to his armored right. The heavy armor did well protecting him from bladed attacks, while even blunt blows seemed to do nothing to him even as the metal armor showed faint dents. Not once did Doric grunt or show any pain as he'd seemingly held the group back while continuing to strike out with shield and mace.

"Together damnit!" One Companion growled before getting his nose broken by a shield strike, making him stagger back and weaken the defensive line even more. By now Ogatto and Ayla quickly moved up to take a spot beside Doric, the Dothraki on the left and Ayla on the right. The Dornwoman took advantage of her reach to deliver quick stabs and slashes with her bladed spear, the men unable to defend quickly since they had been focused on attacking Doric's more exposed right side. Ogatto meanwhile would lunge in every time the knight's shield bashed the Companions back, giving a fierce yell as he'd slice and hack away at the staggered sellswords. Between the three they took down four more, making the men's moral waver. Even the level-headed Companion leader was becoming shaken and losing his calm.

"How in the Hells can they fight so…coordinated!" He cursed to himself, directing the men to back away and take a tighter formation now as they tried retreated to the main door out.

Suddenly, a barbed arrow shot from behind a support beam and right into one Companion's neck, making him go wide eye and grasp at the arrow in reaction. He'd try to pull the wicked arrow out only to rip out half his throat before dropping to the ground, gagging as he choked on his own blood. Stepping into view, the Shadow gave a quite evil grin as he'd nock another arrow and fire at another sellsword, the man yelling out as the missile ripped deeply into his shoulder.

"You didn't think I'd miss out on the fun either?" The assassin chuckled as he stood in their way.

The five remaining mercenaries were trembling as they stood back to back, disturbed by just how brutal these strangers were. Their leader looked about nervous, trying to think of some new tactic or escape plan, but he didn't see any way out. "Alright…we…we made a mistake threatening you. Surely we can cut a deal."

"Ah deal you say?" Zarin at last spoke, the man shifting out of his seat as he'd pace over to the group. Marcus also joined up, the man having taken his heavy crossbow off from its mount, the impressive weapon loaded with a strong bolt. Garm was beside him growling at the men who'd flinch at the sight of the fearsome half-wolf. "You aren't one to make demands here and you had plenty of chances to back off…friend."

"I can give you information! Details the Brave Companions plans. Army movements, supplies and more!" The Northerner quickly answered back. "Just let me and my men go in return."

The Shadow and Ogatto chuckled out at the man's offer, seeming quite amused. "What makes you think Zarin can't get the answers himself…or has them already?" The Dothraki stated.

At that point one of the men suddenly broke away from the group, trying to rush to the doorway. The Shadow didn't bother to stop him as the man slammed into the heavy doorway, realizing the assassin had locked it. Before he could even turned around, Marcus fired a bolt right into his back, the powerful crossbow making it pierce right through him and stab into the doorway. Pinned to the door, the man gave gasping breaths before slumping forward, dead.

"The thing is all of you are parasites to the world." Zarin calmly stated as he stepped forward, the other Grims closing in as well. "You are all lowly cowards; men who take and destroy instead of build and protect. All of knew what the Bloody Mummers were about…the raiding…"

The Shadow fired another arrow, going right into one Companion's eye.

"…the murdering…"

Doric slammed his mace into another sellsword's gut, making him cough up blood before being smashed to the ground by a shield blow.

"…the raping…"

Ayla twirled her spear about, the Companion she lunged thinking it was a stab only to get the bladed edge sinking right into the side of his face.

"…and torture."

The last grunt screamed as he tried to rush away, hoping to find some escape at the back of the hall. Aiming and firing, Marcus shot a bolt right into the man's knee to have him howl out and tumble, before Garm rushed in. His yells of pain were short lived as the half-wolf bite down onto his throat and thrashed.

Zarin slowly paced forward to the Companion leader, the man holding up his hand axe in defense. He was trembling, his usual composure at its limit as he stared down the calm alchemist. "Killing me and my men just delays your end." He muttered, trying to seem imposing with his threatening warning. "The Companions are over two hundred strong and will not stop until all of you suffer a slow death. What can the six of you and one mutt possibly do against an army?"

"You'd be surprised. It only takes one person to topple a nation, all it takes is the right steps to do so." The alchemist casually stated as he'd take out a pair of fine leather gloves that were a deep red color. "The Bloody Mummers will be the first casualty of the new revolution, a loss no one will mourn over." With a flick of his right wrist, a gleaming dagger slipped out from the sleeve of his robe. "Now then…any last words?" The other Grims stood back as they let their leader take on the Companion, not seeming worried for him.

"To the Hells with you old man!" Quickly the sellsword lunged out, large hand axe swinging out for Zarin's neck.

The alchemist though was faster, dodging aside before his dagger plunged into the man's right elbow, ripped through joint with ease. Twisting and turning the weapon, he'd quickly disarm the man as he'd drop his weapon and howl in pain as his arm was forced back. His anger drove him on though as he'd last out with a left hook, the alchemist leaned back to avoid it while withdrawing his weapon from the man's arm. Zarin ducked from another punch, slipping up close to the man as his dagger again stabbed out, aiming for left armpit. With the man's arm lashing out, it was completely exposed for a fatal attack. The Companion gave a deep grunt as the blade sunk into him, bypassing the breastplate he wore. The blade slipped between his ribs, pierced right through the left lung and just sunk into his heart. With what air the man had, he'd gasp up thick blood as his one good arm grasped at Zarin's shoulder, though it was hard to tell if it was in a fighting or pleading.

"Painful isn't it? I wonder how many lives you've ruined with the same pain." The alchemist coldly whispered while the Companion face a choking growl as he clung to life. "When I am done…Westeros will never have to suffer from your filth or the cruelty of tyrants." With that he'd twist the dagger sharply, making the man give another shaken breath before he'd go limp as his heart was diced within him. Withdrawing the blade, he'd wipe the blade clean off of the dead man's clothes before letting him drop to the ground surrounded by his fellow sellswords.

"A bit over dramatic don't you think?" The Shadow chuckled as he'd prod one of the dead Companion's to make sure he was dead. "He was a nobody after all."

"You are right." Zarin sigh, seeming to have returned to his usual formal demeanor now that the sellswords were wiped out. He'd carefully tuck his dagger back into a hidden sheath strapped to his forearm.

"Quite the fucking mess we've made here…" Marcus sighed, looking over the fourteen sellswords and puddles of blood everywhere. "Why is it when we get together this stuff happens?"

"Bad luck?" Ogatto chuckled with a grin before glancing to Ayla.

"These men deserved it. After all they were planning to kill you even if you weren't a Grim…and you family…" Ayla remarked, though seeing Marcu's intense glare had her stop speaking.

"Let us not be distracted by the 'what ifs'." Zarin sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "I apologize Marcus for bringing so much trouble to your home. I didn't expect the Bloody Mummers to send such a large force to hunt us down."

The Northerner gave a small grunt of annoyance yet nodded his head slightly. Pacing over to the slain leader, he'd be silent in thought before speaking. "So can we do it Zarin? The six of us against not just the Brave Companions but possible against the Lords of Westeros? I know I shouldn't be doubtful right now…but the risks are great…"

"I have worked for over thirty years to prepare for this Marcus, I know the risks better than anyone." The alchemist muttered, his gaze drifting over his companions. "I chose the five of you because you have the skills and motivation to bring real change to this world. If any of you have any fear or doubt, you are free to leave without worry of punishment." Pausing, he'd again look around the surrounding Grims who remained where they stood.

"I swore an oath to follow your lead no matter what. Your vision of the future is the best course for all of Westeros and perhaps the rest of the world." Doric answered back with a short respectful bow.

"You've been a mentor for half my life. Without you I would have wasted my potential or died long ago." Ayla remarked. "Dorne will at last have a real place with the rest of Westeros and end the corruption this divided nation has suffered for generations."

The Shadow was silent for a long moment, for the first time this meeting showing a thoughtful look in his gloomy eyes. "You saved my life, so I owe you for that. Can't say I care much fixing the world's problems…" The assassin paused, almost as if debating if he'd say something deep and meaningful as the others. In the end he'd give a small smirk. "Fuck it. Can't deny the fame and riches we'll get, so no backing down here."

Ogatto gave a wide grin and nodded. "Westeros isn't my home…never will be. What we will accomplish though will shake across all of Esso. To the rulers of the Free Cities, the Masters of Slavers Bay and the Khals of the Dothraki. All of them will have to adapt or be wiped out over what is to come."

Last was Marcus, the Northerner pacing slightly as he'd look between his fellow Grims with a narrow gaze. "I'm a simple man. A hunter…a soldier…father. Never wanted to go against Lords and Kings." His hands gripped his crossbow tightly. "In the end they are the one who forced my hand. I may be common blood, but my life and that of my family is worth just as much as theirs!" He'd give a low growl and nod. "For the sake of my family and all honest folk, I'll stand with all of you."

With their speeches all given, Zarin gave a pleased smile to his companions. "I expected nothing less." His gaze drifted down to the surrounding dead with a dismissing look. "So for everyone remaining in the Riverlands, you now have to remove these parasites before they become too involved in the civil war. We can't take down a whole army, but all we need to do is break their will to fight."

"Oh I have a good feeling on what you have in mind." The Shadow chuckled eagerly.

"Put a bounty notice out in every town and outpost you go for the emblems and heads of the Brave Companions. I want at least five thousand on Vargo Hoat himself. If he dies the Companions will become divided by infighting. The group may even turn on itself if the reward is that appealing…or we spread enough fear to have them divide." He'd again glance over their slain enemies, a smirk on his face. "Our foes are a cowardly bunch as you can see. They will crumble with ease."

"By the Seven, Old Gods and…UGH, all the Faiths of the world!?" A sudden female voice yelled out, making everyone glance back to see Sandra standing by the doorway from the private quarters looking over the remains of the recent fight. Her face was paled at the gory sight, the woman keeping herself composed as she'd snap out. "Zarin! Your meeting is over! Get this…slaughter cleaned up…all of it!" With that she'd slam the door, leaving an awkward silence over the group.

Sighing, the alchemist moved to his bag to collect out bottles and other mixtures for the task ahead. "How rude of me to ignore such a matter, much less as a guest."

"You do know that it's going to take us all night just to get all these bodies removed and blood cleaned up." Ayla sighed as she'd already start picking up the dropped weapons and getting them piled up.

"Morning if since we have to dump the bodies away from here." Doric added as the large knight grabbed two corpses and began to drag them for the door outside.

"Then you best all do an excellent job. If my wife see's one drop of blood you'll rather be facing the Mountain, Jaime and the Witcher instead." Marcus warned as he lugged one body over his shoulder. Despite the carnage around them, the group couldn't help but start to chuckle and laugh at the Northerner's jesting warning. In a way they were like a family, if one formed from strife and blood. Yet that kind of bond and comradery could be enough to topple a nation.

…

Catelyn Stark – The Riverlands – Riverrun

Never in all her life had Catelyn faced as muchanxiety as she had in just the last few months. Between the crippling fall for Bran, watching half of her family leave home and then hearing the shocking news coming from King's Landing. She had been traveling slowly since leaving the capital, not wishing to exhaust herself like she did when coming south. When news came on the road of her husband being arrested for treason, she had been quick to change her route to Riverrun to seek aid from rest of House Tully.

When she arrived, she learned of the troubling news of her father suffering under a terrible illness, something he had kept secret to only a select few, leaving her brother Edmure in charge of his duties. She wanted nothing more than her family to gather their men and march south in defense of her husband yet knew such a rash move would only worsen the situation.

"Only worsen…" She muttered to herself, bowing her head slightly. Glancing down at the desk she was sitting at, she'd read over the fourth letter she had been writing, this one to her sister in the Eyrie. She wish she could do more than write pleading letters, but for now that was all she had to rely on. Before she could continue writing, there be a knock at the door and the voice of a servant speaking through it.

"Lady Stark…Lord Edmure and Ser Brynden are requested you to come to The Great Hall for special meeting."

Curious, she'd get up and grab her cloak before opening the door to gaze at the shy servant girl. "At this hour? What is the reason for this?"

"I…it seems a strange trio of women have come to pay respects to your brother my lady. They claim to have news about your husband and children."

The part mentioning her family drew a surprised look show on Catelyn's face as she'd quickly hurry pass the servant and heading through the winding halls to the main hall. She knew she shouldn't be so excited by this, since she knew nothing of these visitors. But right now she had to know what happened to her family after the harrowing escape from King's Landing a week ago. Reaching the Great Hall speedily involved crossing the lush Godswood, following a clear trail from the main keep to the Hall itself. Arriving, she'd find her uncle and brother already seated at the head table, Edmure at his place in the high seat.

Edmure was a dashing clean-shaven man with a broad strong jaw, short cut auburn hair and sharp deep blue eyes. He had a lean muscular build, expect of him considering he was next in line to lead House Tully since it's Lord to be capable for battle. She just hoped his hot-headed nature and near blind desire for women didn't get the better of him.

Her uncle Brynden or better known as the Blackfish was an example of what Edmure may look like in his later years. His hair was now a deep gray and face wind-burnt, though his own blue eyes had not lost their fierce luster. Despite his age he was quite fit, having kept to his strict training even during peaceful times. Being a veteran of over fifty battles was no small feat and he was planned to increase that number with the next conflict.

"I have a bad feeling about these guests, Edmure. Its improper that you let strangers in so late, much less the type claiming to be 'seers'." The Blackfish muttered. He and his nephew often argued, though Brynden did it out of stern advice.

"They claim to have information about Lord Eddard and his daughters. Rumors and guessing will only get us so far, so can't hurt to see what these three sisters have to offer."

"From what the guards say they are an odd bunch, foreign though not seeming to be from Essos." At this point Brynden would see Catelyn, giving a short nod to her as she'd take her seat close by. "Could you convince your brother to reconsider this meeting? For all we know this could be a ruse of some fortune tellers."

"Uncle…I know this may seem informal, but we're desperate for any information. If they demand payment, then we will refuse them and send them away. Surely that is a good compromise." She calmly answered back.

"Waste of time this is…" The Blackfish muttered. before the main doors into the hall were pushed open.

Four guards filed in followed by three women dressed in quite common clothes fitting of peasants, though crafted out of fine materials. Their garb was a mix of work dresses and aprons, though each one had a few extra accessories such as one wearing a red cone hat, another vialed headdress and the other carrying wicker basket full of bottles drinks and brew at her hip. One thing they all shared was the fact they were all breathtakingly beautiful, having full curvy figures and soft comely faces. One thing for sure was that Edmure had an appealed gleam in his eyes, much to his uncle's annoyance.

The trio approached the high table before stopping to give low respectful bows to the gathered Tullys.

"Lord Edmure…"

"…Ser Brynden…"

"…and Lady Stark…"

"We are honored for this sudden audience." All three said at once as they again gave a low bow. Their voices did have an odd tone to it, very unlike the accents common to the Riverlands or the neighboring Kingdoms.

The three Tullys gave curious looks between the visitors and then themselves, finding this greeting to be quite…different. "Wonder how long they rehearsed that." Brynden whispered to Catelyn with a low chuckle.

"They are a bit eccentric that is sure." She muttered in agreement as the three women stood up from their bow. "I wonder how they knew my name though. I've only been home for little more than a month and in secret."

Her uncle glanced back at the women with questioning look, rubbing across the scruff of his chin in though. His nephew though was quick to greet back their odd guests.

"Thank you for such a kindly greeting. It seems you already know us already, though we cannot say the same for you." He answered back formally.

"Our names are quite…unique, good Lord. My name would be Whispess, eldest and leader of our group." Said the woman with the hooded vale. She'd then gesture to her sisters, first to the one with the cone hat. "This would be Weavess…" Then to the one with the basket of bottles. "and Brewess. The three of us are Seers who have taken home at a place you call Highheart."

Again the Tullys leaned in to speak to themselves. "Odd names indeed. Those surely can't be their real names." Catelyn whispered. "Highheart, that is a barren hill just to the southeast of here. Nothing there but Weirwood stumps."

"They are definitely foreign. I know Highheart has been abandoned since the time of the Andels, at least in legend. I question though if they have the right to take ownership of it. Besides, we have gotten reports of disappearances around those woods."

"Then perhaps we should ask them about that." Edmure muttered before speaking up towards the three sisters. "I can tell you three aren't from Westeros. May I ask what brought you to that ancient hill in the first place?"

Weavess would step forward to answer. "Because of prophecy. The hill is sacred despite being uncared for generations and we seek to restore it to its former glory."

"Already life blooms under our care. Our rites and elixirs do such wonders." Brewess added.

"Another question, would you happen to know of the odd disappearances throughout the woods there?" Edmure asked.

"Odd stirring are about that is for sure. We cannot say good lord, for we've kept to the hill and surroundings woods ever since finding it." Whispess formally answered. "But surely you wish us to answer more concerning questions. Our gift of sight shows us many things, such as the fate of the dear Lady's husbands and children."

"Forgive me if I'm doubtful on such claims. I've heard plenty of promises from soothsayers and fortunetellers, more than enough to know they are fakes." The Blackfish sternly questioned.

A faint smirk was just seen under the seer's vale, seeming amused by the knight's remarks. "Harsh words Blackfish. Always the outsider within your family, striving to impress. Why else would you thrown yourself battle after battle, facing greater odds?" However, she'd stop when she saw the man's scowl, hinting that she right with her prediction.

"Do not trouble the man trouble the man with the truth sister, we are here to aid the worried mother." Weavess added, giving a short bow to the Tullys and looking to Catelyn. "Do you wish to hear what our sight has shown, even if it brings pain to you?"

There was a tense silence as Catelyn looked to her uncle and brother. Brynden had a sharp glare in his eyes, showing the seer's words about him had struck a nerve. Edmure though seemed quite curious over what he had heard so far. In the end, she'd nod to the three sisters in agreement. "Tell me then…the worse parts first."

"Brave of you to ask of that. A strong woman as the signs say." Brewess cooed.

"The Warden of the North, Old Wolf of the House of Stark, is dead." Weavess calmly stated.

"Felled by the cruel arrow of a living shadow." Whispess finished.

Catelyn trembled hearing what the seers said. Their words while vague had deep meaning to them and the way the three looked at her showed no lies from what she could tell. "Tell me more. Everything…how he was captured…what happened to my daughters…all of it."

"A fraud trial he was condemned, having learned a truth taboo and vile."

"Torn between love and honor, he chose family before all else."

"Yet the false boy king forgo reason for selfish malice, wanting death instead of mock justice."

"Those loyal, priest of red, fencer and slayer of monsters intervened…"

"…hurrying a dying Lord and mourning daughters to the isle of black stone."

"Black stone? Only place could be Dragonstone." Edmure muttered to his sister. "Eddard mentioned that Stannis was the true heir to the Iron Throne in his letter. It make sense they'd flee there."

"And it explain why we got no direct messages from them as well. They must assume you are still returning to Winterfell." Brynden muttered, giving a sideward glance to the seers. "These women must have some far-reaching ties to know this…are masters of guessing…or…"

"Magic?" Edmure chuckled.

"Bloody fantasy that is." The Blackfish lowly growled. "Hate how they talk in turn and have to be so vague on very sentence! I prefer straight answers not damn riddles!"

"When you think over every word, it makes sense." Catelyn calmly pointed out. "What matters is my daughters are safe at Dragonstone and that Geralt is watching them."

"A no more capable man considering. Ignoring the false claims the Lannisters have, he seems to be a one-man army. He'll get Sansa and Arya to the North safely."

"If you will excuse us interrupting your graces, we do have more to say. There is nothing else we can share about Lady Stark's daughters, but we can offer other services to you."

"Such as?' Edmure curiously questioned.

"Potent brews and cures, advice, mystic knowledge and of our sight." Weavess stated.

"We seek only the stability of the Lords and people in the Riverlands. With civil war threatening your lands, we'd be a valuable ally." Brewess added.

"All we ask is that we have official ownership High Heart and the boundary woods. We seek to make it a…haven for those needing aid and comfort. Many people will be displaced by the conflict. We have great experience tending to the orphaned young as well." Whispress finished.

"I don't trust them." Brynden muttered. "We know too little of them and who knows what they haven't told us."

"Worried about three charming women living on an empty hill uncle? We'll keep a close eye on them, see if there is anything odd about them. However they could prove useful if they are willing to help for little to nothing."

"Which is what worries me. Everything has a price, no matter how freely offered."

Edmure paused in thought, looking between uncle and sister before glancing at the three sisters. His gaze drifted over their alluring bodies and soft charming faces. They seemed to notice his glancing interest, giving a sly smiles and glares to him. "This…is a matter I will have to think over. Still I will allow you to stay at High Heart and will send a messenger once I've decided."

"As you see fit Lord Edmure." Whispress replied before she and her sisters gave a short bow. "Then we will take out leave but be weary in the coming weeks."

"For the woods will be thick with the dead…" Weavess followed up.

"…and the rivers thick red with blood." Brewess added.

With that the three turned to leave, sandaled feet patting across the ground. Low chuckles and giggles escaped from them, which was chilling as it seemed to become a more witchy cackle as the door behind them closed shut. Cateyln felt shaken after that grim warning and knew that things were about to get much worse for her whole family.

"Robb…Bran…Rickon…Sansa and Arya…by Old Gods and New please be safe…" She whispered to herself while her uncle and brother gave worried looks to her as she'd silently hold back tears.

…

"Quite a good first impression yes?" Whispess chuckled

"Edmure was nearly love struck. Did you see how he eyed me." Brewess giggled.

"Such a lustful man. He will be easy to toy with once we get our claws on him." Weavess gleefully remarked.

"We have plenty of choices if he proves too difficult. These Lannisters to the south could be a useful tool…and when the young Robb marches from the North he could be controlled."

"The minor Houses should be our next focus. So much old hates and ambitions, easy to warp to our needs."

The three Crones looked over Riverrun from the cover of the thick woods, all of them now in their monstrous true forms. They had been getting stronger in the last few weeks, the growing magic and fresh meat of humans having restored their power quickly.

"We must play to our guise sister. If we reveal too much our true nature, we will have to take more…forceful steps to build our army." Whispress glanced to Brewess. "How has your experiments been going with the Pit? We need more than the ghouls if we wish to strike out."

"Oh I have something better cooking. Been hunting all the beasts needed to create a chort for us, perhaps a fiend if the pit's power is a strong as we believe."

"Then focus all your attention and power to it. Weavess and I will see to dealing with Raventree Hall and the troublesome boy. The Blackwoods may be a minor House, they're influence could prove dangerous if left unchecked." The crone gave a grin under her vail. "Winter is coming sisters…we must be strong for the 'sake' of all of Westeros."

…