Chapter 43: A Road of Rivers
Forward: Editing credit to Rainsfere.
…
Four days after leaving White Harbor – Nightfall – Somewhere on the King's Road north of Moat Cailin – Geralt
The last few days had passed by quickly for the Winter Wolves, the company having been traveling quite quickly to reach Moat Cailin. While on the map the fortress was not that far from White Harbor, the dense marshes that separated them was too difficult to travel, even more with supply wagons. As planned they had traveled the roads along the White Knife river until reaching the King's Road, then ride southward from there. At the least the country wide road made travel speedy, along with offering suitable places for the company to camp during the nights.
During travel, he was often talking with his companions, though spent the most time learning from Beric on tactics. While the lord did manage the battle plans for the different units within the company, Geralt as the commander needed to understand how it all functioned. After all in the middle of a battle, the situation could change for their advantage or disadvantage, requiring him to make changes to their tactics.
For this night, the two along with the leaders of each unit sat by the same campfire, everyone's attention focused on the ground where a dirt drawn map was. Rocks and other scrap represented aspects of the battle.
"Right…so the heavy cavalry would make the opening attack." Geralt muttered. "Then light cavalry to sweep in to bog them down so the heavy can prepare for another charge."
"Exactly that." Smalljon chuckled. "Heavy riders like mine can fight fine in close battles but are far more devastating with our lances."
"That aside, its best to move the infantry opposite position. Suitable for blocking a retreat or to close in if needed."
"With of course the archers having their part." Theon added. "Just put us in the right angle and we can pelt the enemy with arrows while avoiding hitting the others."
"I didn't forget that detail." Geralt muttered back. "Considering how mobile the archers are on foot, it's best to put them out of the way. Woodland cover or an elevated position makes the difference."
Beric nodded. "Overall we seem to understand our roles and how to effectively use them. While a true battle has risk, it is the best way to test ourselves."
"Agreed. Let's just be sure that first fight will be on our terms then." Glancing about the group, Geralt sighed. "Anyway we should get some rest. With the weather expected to be clear tomorrow, we should reach Moat Cailin by late morning."
Dacey yawned in agreement to that. "With you pushing us to ride so fast…mgh…it'd be nice to just take it slow for the next few days." She murmured before getting up. "Until the morning." With a toying wave, the young woman headed off towards the Bear Islander's part of the camp.
Theon eyed her with a smirk, waiting until she was out of earshot to speak up. "Coy one for sure. Definitely needs a bed mate to mellow out." He jested.
"Aye and you only have the balls to say that when she's a mile away." Graffin growled back. "Have a little self-control, boy. The rules are simple, no fooling with the shield maidens unless they invite ya!"
"Hey, no harm in showing interest!" Theon defended himself with a smug grin. "Besides a few men are already betting on who will court her."
Beric frowned at the news. "Quite a crude game I think…" He muttered distastefully.
"Bah! Lighten up!" Thoros chuckled. "It's only natural the youths have their passions. Just Theon's interest is the most dangerous one!"
The young man sighed, rolling his eyes a bit at the remark. "Great…and it's the mad fire priest who supports me." Getting up from the rock he sat on, Theon stretched a bit. "Enough chatter for me. Goodnight."
With the Iron Islander gone, Beric shook his head as he too got up, ready to return to his tent. "Boy needs some serious discipline. Hot head like that is going to get him killed."
"Hah, if he wasn't like a brother to Lord Stark, Dacey would give him quite the thrashing for just the way he stares at her." Smalljon laughed out as he too got up to leave, Graffin doing the same.
With just Thoros remaining, Geralt sighed as he rubbed the back of his white haired head. "As always…I draw the most colorful of characters…"
"You act as if that is a bad thing." Thoros remarked back with a grin. "They may bicker, but we all know it's in hearty jest. Everyone will watch each other's backs when the time comes."
"I don't doubt that." The Witcher couldn't help and smirk a bit. "Chats like that though do bring back old memories. Companions of the past…long gone."
Hearing that drew a curious look from the Red Priest. "Oh now that sounds like an interesting tale."
For a moment Geralt hesitated in speaking further. If anything Thoros had been one of his most steadfast friends in this world, even if they first met as rivals. "Aye…though doesn't end happily." With a small sigh. "Milva, Regis, Cahir and Angoulême. They're the ones who didn't make it in the end…but that is a long story for a better time."
The low mournful hint in the Witcher's words showed how deep his old companions meant, making the priest nod. "Aye. A stiff drink on hand at least." He gave a low chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Bah, I've troubled your mind enough already. Last we need is you stressed before we reach the Moat." Getting up, he moved off to his own tent, giving a friendly pat on Geralt's shoulder as he passed by.
Sitting alone, Geralt did ponder the priest's words before hearing the fluttering of wings nearby. His sharp eyes could pick out the movement of Nasr as he flew down to land on a rock close by, cawing out before bobbing his head.
"Look out! Monsters!"
"Again with that." Geralt remembered the bird yammering the last time he passed through. Picking up some bread crumbs for his dinner, he tossed them over to the raven who was quick to peck at them. Still out of habit he had one hand tracing along the shape of his wolf medallion. Even after so long without a clear sign of magic or a monster lurking about, he still felt it for just the hint of a vibration. "Nothing. A world without monsters…well…beyond those among us." Sighing, he got up from his spot by the fire to go to his tent, hoping sleep would ease his doubting thoughts.
…
Fairmarket, Backrooms of the Three Kegs – The Grims
Marcus looked over the odd sight that was laid out on the table, a twisted arm made of gnarled wood. The gruff huntsman glanced up to his fellow Grims, trying to get a read off their own thoughts.
Shadow looked like shit considering what he had been through. His eyes had dark circles from lack of sleep, light bird claw marks across his face and his clothes quite dirtied from traveling through the wilderness. After his encounter with the…tree monster…the assassin had been overly paranoid in how he returned to town. Even though he had delayed in returning, it was impressive how fast he got back without using any proper roads. It was also shocking with the wolf that had followed him though that was another matter. Right now the assassin's look was dead serious, the cold snark he usually had gone for now.
Ogatto though seemed bemused by all of this. The Dothraki's face showed clear doubt over the Shadow's story, even with the monstrous limb as proof. He had been one of the few being doubtful of Marcus' own encounter with a monster, with Shadow being likeminded. Course after what had happened, that could explain the assassin's change of thought.
Doric as usual was hard to figure out, though it was obvious the knight was in deep thought. He knew the knight was a religious fellow though not one to be muddled in superstition. When proof or a clear claim was given though, he was often the first to offer support.
"Are you sure it wasn't just some…man on silts in a tree costume?" Ogatto chuckled, obviously finding the assassin's story quite crazy.
"Oh yeah sure…he had a pack of trained wolves and flock of murderous crows at his beck and fucking call!" Shadow growled out, slamming one fist into the table. "Look, I was just as doubtful of Marcus'….ghoul encounter, but whatever this…" He gestured at the arm. "…thing is nearly killed me! If the she-wolf outside didn't jump in, I'd be dead for sure."
"Fortunate." Doric simply remarked, at last glancing up to look at his companions. "And you believe this attack was planned, connected to the villages you scouted?"
The assassin scoffed slightly. "The last village elder was at the edge of outright threatening me. True I roughed him up, but there is something shady going on further south. The minor lords have become silent, towns seemingly safe despite the sellswords all around. Add in the odd details such as the lack of children and some of the men missing ears…its nearly cultish."
Marcus was silent as he thought over all of this, the rest of the Grims watching him intently. He was after all in charge of the group, so he had the final say in the matter. "If so many communities are under some…influence, then it is safe to say those who lord over those lands may be as well." He flipped out a simple map of the Riverlands, tracing a finger along the area south of the River Road, the main route that separated the region. "Dozens of holdings of minor Houses, hedge knights and the like. Most of them former loyalists to the Targaryens."
"People in power with grudges." Doric muttered.
"Or seeking an opportunity to without taking any sides." Shadow added.
Ogatto groaned at the details. "Great…so a third-party of schemers? Zarin isn't going to like this…"
"I know. He never likes it when the unexpected happens." Marcus muttered in agreement.
"Heh wonder how we'll write that message. 'Possible witches in the woods building a cult. Oh and tree monsters'." Shadow dryly jested. "Even if we beat down the Brave Companions, these Seers could be a bigger threat for us."
"One challenge at a time." Marcus assured. "Right now the mercenaries are closing in from the east as expected. Fording the rivers and traveling through the forests have slowed them down, giving us more time to prepare. Knowing Hort, he will no doubt be pushing the men in their march. If they arrive tired, that could give us an edge as well."
"So…how are we going to handle this…cult problem? Word is going to get around about these Seers. It could divide some of our militia." Shadow sternly questioned.
"If we win, no one here is going to even think of leaving or betraying us. Though if we lose we most likely won't live to see otherwise." Marcus assured. "For now, no talk of these Seers or monsters outside of our meetings. Understood?"
The other Grims nodded in agreement.
"Good. Anyway, Shadow the suite is yours for the week. Just take a bath first before you sleep in the bed."
"Hah! Don't need to order me on that!" He laughed out as he moved to leave. "Oh and don't forget to check on the wolf? Thing saved my life…so give it a steak on me." With that he left the room.
Ogatto shook his head. "First time I've seen him care about anything other than himself. Maybe that tree creature did something to his head." Shrugging the Dothraki yawned slightly. "Anyway I'm going to bed. Need to get up early to keep drilling our own troops." With a short wave to the others, he walked out.
Doric gave a low hum of thought before he spoke. "I think I will take the time to look over the myths to the Old Gods. If there is anything about these creatures, perhaps we can learn of a weakness about them."
"Worth a try at least." Marcus replied. "Just don't let it take up too much of your time training the men."
"Of course." With a short bow, the knight marched out of the backroom, leaving Marcus alone.
Giving a tired sigh, the Northerner paced over to the backdoor that lead out of his pub, leading to the small stables the building had. He had left Garm to watch over the odd she-wolf Shadow had brought with him. At a glance he knew it was no ordinary beast since it seemed strikingly intelligent as if it had been trained. Going over to the pen he had put it in, he found Garm sitting before it, the black furred wolf gaze focused on stall door.
"She behaving I take?" He asked the wolf, who glanced up at him, tail wagging slightly seeing his master. Smiling at his companion, he rubbed him behind the ears before moving to unlock the pen door. Peeking inside he could see the gray wolf resting on the straw bed, the creature's shifting up alert as he entered. It did growl slightly at him, though he knew it was just a warning. "Calm down girl. Just a friend of dark and gloomy."
He slowly moved closer, kneeling down before holding out one hand. For a moment, the wolf didn't move, though it slowly began to relax. A minute passed before it moved closer to him, sniffing his outstretched hand. Up close he had a better look at the beautiful creature, it's fur such a stunning gray color. Yet he could tell there was something off about it. For one it was a young canine, perhaps nearing a year old, though it was already the size of a wolf a few years older. Then there was the fact it seemed quite unscarred for being in the wild, since even a juvenile wolf would get roughed up.
"Just be still for me." He spoke softly, his hand moving to scratch along the muzzle then rub the fur of the neck. The wolf didn't resist, seeming to welcome being petted as he lightly titled it's head to examine around. "Just what are you?"
His muttered question made the wolf's eyes snap to meet his gaze, surprisingly him slightly. Staring into the colorful eyes, his heart raced as he remembered that look…the emotional intelligence within them. His breath was shaky as he remembered more of that fateful day.
…
The musky scent of dank fur and old blood was thick in the hound pens of the Dreadfort, a foul place that the hunter had despised. Yet he had to know…had to see if what the boy had claimed was true. There were few guards about and despite his rugged appearance his steps were silent. A solid choke hold or crack to the back of the skull was all he needed to subdue them.
At last though he reached the deepest pen, his sharp ears catching the whimpering of a pup beyond the wooden door. Unlocking it, he entered the dark room, the stench within making even him flinch. What he saw horrified him, the hardened look on his face becoming that of pure shock. The massive dire wolf was bound down by ropes, pinned onto one side to bare it's belly at the door. Those powerful jaws had a leather muzzle strapped over it, giving the creature barely enough freedom to pant or barely eat what lowly meal given. Its beautiful dark coat was ruined, dirtied by its own blood and filth. A once powerful body was ravished by abuse and starvation, only kept alive by primal will and the 'mercy' of masters of this keep.
Yet despite its miserable state the dire wolf stirred, it's head turning with what freedom it had before growling fiercely. Even held at the brink of death, the beast refused to yield…to submit to anyone. At that point though Marcus saw some movement tucked against her belly, a small black furred form. "Gods…they did it…" He muttered, stepping closer only for the mother wolf to growl more fiercely. At that moment he stared into its eyes, seeing the intelligence in them despite the intense pain, the instinctive care a mother would have for its child.
Slowly, Marcus moved around to the front of the bound dire wolf, ignoring it's growls. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" He muttered, bowing his head slightly. It was his fault such a beautiful creature was like this, little more than a breeding tool for a sadistic family. It was against everything he believed in as a hunter. One hand touched the dire wolf's bound muzzle, the creature's growls stopping as he gently rubbed along the jaw and side of its head.
"I can't save you…but I can at least free you from this." His hand felt the scars and bloody wounds under the dirty fur. "The pup…I'll take care of it. Keep him safe. Raise him strong…" For a long moment he just kept stroking the beast's head, their eyes locked the whole time. In the end the beast's eyes softened as it understood what he meant…sensed his intention. A tired whine escaped from it as the creature was at its limit. Carefully he undid the muzzle, wanting the she-wolf to breath freely before he then drew his hunting knife. Stroking it's muzzle, he moved to line the blade at its chest, a clear aim for the heart. With a strong stab, he felt the beast cry out and struggle for a few seconds, only to relax. His eyes were closed in sorrow before opening them to see the dead eyes of the she-wolf.
At that point he could hear the bells ringing, no doubt the alarm as his intrusion was realized. "Not done yet…" Withdrawing his blade, he moved to scoop up the half-dire pup, still partly blind as it whined and whimpered in his strong arm. "I'll keep you safe. I'll make this right…" He promised as he could hear footsteps echoing through the pens halls. His free hand moved to draw his hand axe as he marched out to the hallway, ready to cut his way out of the Dread Fort.
…
The sudden lick to his face snapped him out of his thoughts, Marcus realizing it was the dire wolf. Any grim thoughts he had quickly fading as he petted the she-wolf along the back of its head. "Yeah…definitely a dire wolf." He muttered. "So how in the Hells did you end up so far south? Shouldn't be any of you on this side of the Wall."
His questioning made the wolf whine slightly, a clear sign of being quite lonely. If what Shadow told him was true, the monster had controlled the pack it was in to attack him, which he had to kill in his defense. Yet the look in the she-wolf eyes showed an older sadness, at least what his strong empathy could tell.
"Well you're free to stay here or leave if you want." He assured the wolf, who panted happily. "Garm could use the company anyway. The old wolf needs a companion under his wing." Hearing his name, the half-dire wolf moved over to sit beside his master. The two canines stared at each other, tails wagging quite eagerly. "Anyway moon is high tonight. Go on a little hunting."
Garm barked slightly, quickly turning to hurry out of the pen and towards the woods. The she-dire wolf gave chase, barking back as the two quickly disappeared into the dark brush. Marcus couldn't help but smirk at the sight, glad to see his beloved companion so happy.
"Just hope the old wolf doesn't get too eager. Last thing we need are puppies." Chuckling at the thought, he headed inside, needed some sleep after such a busy night.
…
Morning – Moat Cailin – Geralt
It's easy to see the stronghold of Moat Cailin even from a long distance, considering the flat space of the vast marsh made it impossible to miss. He could see why no one had even been able to invade the North by land…well…except for the Targaryens with their dragons. The stronghold was set on a mound of earth, no doubt manmade considering the surrounding swampy landscape. As the company marched closer though his sharp eyes realized that the fortress was far from impressive.
"Damn…and I thought Kaer Morhen was a wreck…"
Time and lack of care had not been kind to Moat Cailin. The walls were made out of solid basalt, the tallest sections equal to Winterfell's own walls from his estimate. Course, half of it was half sunken into the swamp. There were twenty towers spread between the wall sections and along the King's Road on both sides, though most of them had crumbled, with only three standing intact. Lastly the wooden keep was half rotted, though obvious signs of reconstruction being done.
"Wait…this pile of rumble has protected the North for thousands of years?" Theon scoffed.
"Aye and it will protect it for a thousand more." Graffin remarked back. "Gods, this place has gone to shit though. Remembered far more walls and towers twenty years back."
As they rode closer though, Geralt noticed how everyone was quite tense. It was hard to understand since the normally noisy marshes were quiet and the fact that the perimeter of the fort seemed empty.
"Oi…where are all the guards? Isn't House Reed supposed to be manning this place?" Smalljon grumbled. "I got good eyes and I don't see anyone at the walls or gates."
"That's because they're not out in the open." Geralt muttered back. "So…does anyone know much about the people who live here in the Neck?"
While the question seemed off topic, Dacey spoke up. "The crannogmen. People of the swamp. They're one of the more wilder cultures here in the North. People call them primitive, though I think they prefer the simpler life. From what I heard they're unmatched in ambush and guerilla warfare."
"Aye…and a dirty handed lot. Heard they poison their weapons with anything they can get, even their own shit." Theon rudely jested.
"I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you." Geralt warned as he slowed Roach's pace, the following company slowing as well.
"Why is that?"
"Because right now they have a few dozen bows aimed at us." He calmly stated.
All of his companions looking about nervously, only seeing nothing but reeds, brush and murky water around them. A few of the bannermen further back seemed ready to draw their weapons though Beric was quick to tell them stand down.
"What the Hells?! How...long have-" Thoros started.
"A few leagues back at least." Geralt answered. "They're really good, using rafts to keep track and camouflage to stay hidden." He shifted Roach to look around their surroundings before speaking out. "I'm Geralt of Rivia, commander of the Winter Wolves! We're here on the orders of King Stannis Baratheon and Lord Robb Stark as a forward party further south."
There was a long moment of pause before there was movement all around them. Suddenly, short figures rose up from the mix of plant life and swamp water, bodies covered in reeds and vegetation. Some were literally a few yards away, having been unnoticed by the marching bannermen. The crannogmen really did match their wild reputation as they had broad gruff faces, short muscular builds and dense black haired heads. Three pronged spears, nets, bronze weapons and short bows seemed to be the swamp warriors weapons of choice.
"The Geralt of Rivia…hmmm…how long have you noticed us?" One voice spoke up, the voice deep and quite growly. Among the crannogmen, an older fellow dressed in tough leather armor scaled like a fish. Across one shoulder was the mark of a long mouthed reptile, shaped in a circle biting for its own tail, the mark of House Reed. His inky black hair and beard was formed into dreadlocks, with only those gaunt eyes clearly showing.
"About halfway from where you started stalking us. Moved quieter than even Drowners considering." His remark did draw a questioning look from the man, though Geralt was quick to continue on. "So I take we were practice? Quite risky to be sneaking up on your allies since we may have attacked you by reaction."
The crannogman captain chuckled, shrugging slightly. "Have to get the new bloods tested…and see how yours handled themselves. The little Ironborn there seemed to nearly piss himself." The jest made the other swamp warriors laugh out, while Theon scowled in annoyance. At the least he bit an insult back, though with quite the difficulty.
"Amusing as it is, we're all on the same side." Graffin spoke up, with a stern look. "Yeah the boy is green, but Lord Robb appointed him because he trusts him. I can say the same in my stead as well."
The swamp warrior tilted his head curiously before nodding. "Hmm, just an old man with a loose tongue." His gaze though snapped back to Geralt. "I can say welcome to Moat Cailin, though forgive the state of the place. We've lacked the means to maintain this hallowed place." Turning, he gestured as he and his men began to move forward towards the north gate. With them on the move everyone could see the rafts they used to travel around, simple yet sturdy craft to move silently and quickly through the swamp.
"You mentioned hallowed, why is that?' Geralt asked out of curiosity as they passed through the aged gateway.
The crannogman captain gestured about to one of the standing towers, a slender structure with the top long removed by weather. "The Children's Tower is one of the oldest structures in the region…perhaps even in all of Westeros. It was built by the Greenseers and Children of the Forest, a place where they performed their great magic at."
"Wait…I think I heard of that tale." Smalljon muttered. "Isn't that when they called on the Hammer of Waters a second time? Dark magic that nearly split the continent in two."
The captain nodded. "Yes. The spoken tales of that time say the waters of the sky fell as one, soaking the land into what is now the Neck. As for black magic…it is all on perception. After all if you could smite your enemies in one move, wouldn't you do the same?"
No one remarked back on that last question, making the swamp man smirk amusingly. "As interesting of a tale that was, we would like to know how we'll continue from here." Geralt remarked back. "Greywater Watch is after all a well-hidden keep, considering its always on the move."
The remark about House Reed's castle made the captain chuckle. "True. While many would say Casterly Rock is impossible to siege, Greywater is one that you'll never find. Even if it stayed in one place, the routes through the Neck aren't suitable for armies…especially with us hounding their every move."
He then gestured over to the western side of the fortress where newer construction was set along one of the waterways. A large low baring dock had been built with dozens of large rafts moored along it. Geralt had seen a river craft like this before, perfect for moving along the smaller and often chaotic waterways of swamps. The design of the rafts offered cover for the passengers and fencing to keep the horses from going overboard if spooked.
"We're going to travel on that?" Theon questioned, a doubtful look on his face.
"Surely a river is nothing compared to the sea." The captained replied, jesting tone to his words. "Never have any of our rafts broken, be it by accident or shoddy construction."
"Better be true on that. Last thing we need is losing anything to these damn swamps." Graffin remarked.
Geralt nodded in agreement. "So when would you consider it the best time to leave?" He asked the captain.
"Sooner the better. The late morning is coming, so if we leave within the hour we'll no doubt reach Greywater by tomorrow."
"You're that confident on reaching the keep in that time?"
"Of course! We know where the keep is currently and despite appearances the rafts can move quite quickly."
"Then we'll trust in your judgement." Geralt then turned to his companions. "Order the bannermen and caravanners to get the horses and wagons onto rafts. Should also give everyone an hour of rest before we set off."
Beric nodded. "It will be done." With that, the others turned their mounts around to give out the new orders to the company, leaving just Geralt and Thoros with the crannogman captain.
"Captain, I would like to talk about what is happening in the region, once we get our horses on the rafts." Geralt remarked.
"Of course. I'll be waiting over there." The swamp dweller pointed over to one of the empty campfires close by the docks before moving off to instruct his men on loading the rafts.
Both Geralt and Thoros dismounted to lead their horses over to the dock, being one of the first in line. One of the crannogmen gestured them forward to one of the rafts which seemed to be meant for the company leadership.
"Odd bunch these swamp dwellers…" Thoros muttered. "Remembered visiting the Neck early on when I came to Westeros, sharing the Red Faith and all. Really underestimated them then and still do now."
"Every country has their pockets of unique cultures." Geralt answered in agreement. "Strange as they may be, it's no doubt the reason why they have been able to live here for countless generations."
"Aye, true on that." The two got their horses tied up by one of the feeding troths on the raft, Geralt giving a parting pat to Roach's neck. "Anyway I'll stay here to help the troops while you chat with the captain."
The Witcher just nodded back as he left the dock, heading to the campsite where the Reed captain was at. Once Geralt had reached it, the man was getting a pipe out and stuffing it with a dark brown herb. "Hmm…keeping your Red Priest away?" He questioned, glancing up slightly as he got his pipe ready.
"Thoros chose to stay behind. Didn't want to be a distraction." He replied as he sat down on a log across from the captain. "So what do you know about what is happening in the Riverlands?"
"Superstition and fear that is what." The captain muttered, eyes drifting up to look over Geralt's Witcher features. "Can't say times are strange with men like you about. Real life legends among us." He got out a small flint and tinder to light his pipe, taking a deep breath from it. Sighing, he blew out smoke before continuing. "Truth is we don't know much on what's happening south. No messengers or ravens, not even from House Tully. The only bits of news we get are from fleeing Small Folk, people trying to escape the Brave Companions who are pillaging the region."
"The mercenary company? Heard about them, a nasty lot."
The captain nodded. "Cowards and bastards all of them, led by one of the vilest men to curse the world, Vargo Hoat. Pretty much he's been given full command of every mercenary company paid by the crown. Not a massive force, but enough to hold and fortify Harrenhal."
"Right, we expected that much. Ruin or not that keep is set at a key position." Geralt remarked. "So why is House Tully and the other families doing then? Surely they could take them on their own without the North."
"Aye that is true, yet the problem is there is no real action happening from what the Small Folk say. Mercs pillage a region, pleads to the lordship, only getting excuses or silence back." The man shrugged. "Then there are the rumors, talk of some…mystics that have shown up. A trio of seers offering wisdom and protection."
This new detail did draw a questioning look from Geralt. It wasn't hard for him to quickly jump on a possibility but…no…all but one was dead and on a whole other world. Had to be coincidence, much like other aspects this world had with his own. "Most likely some group from Essos trying to profit from all of this. Isn't the first time I've seen it."
"Maybe…" For a moment, the man just smoked his pipe, deep in thought. "Truth is all of this strangeness started when that Red Comet appeared. The night that happened, a fierce storm hit the region…biggest I've seen in my life. Felt like the world was going mad." Again he took a deep puff from the pipe. "Beyond that it's just rumors. Lord Reed no doubt knows more considering, but the fact is people fleeing are scared…and it isn't just from the Brave Companions."
"Then hopefully Lord Reed will be able to tell me more…or at least our trip further south will do so." Geralt remarked before pausing in thought. "What about the Twins and House Frey? He's practically your neighbor, so surely there is news about what he's doing."
The captain scoffed. "The crannog have little care for that House of bridge rats. Yet Lord Frey has been active in recent months, gathering most of his Bannermen to the Twins. What they lack in bravery and skill they make up with raw numbers and defenses."
"Just as we were worried about." Geralt muttered, stroking one hand along his gruff chin. "He's no doubt going to demand something big to let the our armies march over the Twins."
"Lord Frey isn't known for being generous that is for sure." Though the captain chuckled. "Though considering your accomplishments, you'll get through even him."
"Right. Soon as he sees me at the lead of this colorful band, he'll just drop the drawbridge and welcome us with open arms." Geralt dryly jested. "We'll sort something out."
The captain nodded, puffing his pipe a few more times before dumping the last embers into the campfire. "Anyway that is all we have. Not much…but better than whatever you heard back in White Harbor."
"Gotten by on less." Geralt admitted before shifting to stand up. "Anyway, I should go make sure the rafts are ready. I take you'll be part of the escort as well?"
"Aye, though once we reach Greywater Watch my group is going to head back here. The defenses here need to be worked on further and more rafts are going to be needed if we plan to take the main army around the King's Road." The two headed back towards the dock, were already an orderly line was set for supplies and horses to be loaded up.
"We'll we can relate having both daunting tasks." Geralt chuckled, making the captain smirk in agreement. The two shook hands before splitting, going off to manage their own respective troops. The rest of the hour passed by fast as Geralt helped his company get everyone properly set on the rafts. The last thing they needed was losing any horses, since replacements would be difficult out here. Once everything and everyone was accounted for, the crannogmen began to cast the rafts off into the river, using a mix of oars and poles to move along.
Geralt's companions had split up among the different rafts to ensure their bannermen remained orderly, giving him some time to himself on the raft he had chosen. For most of the remaining day he worked on maintaining his gear and some meditation. The rivers and swamps of the Neck felt so peaceful in comparison to the ones in Velen, no roving bandits or any hint of monsters about. Once night time came, he settled simple shelter the raft had, sleeping early so he would be well rested for the early morning.
…
The following morning was a densely foggy one, even more than the time spent on the Fury. While his adapted eyes could see further than most, the misty surroundings could easily get someone lost out here. "No wonder people have to take the King's Road." He muttered as he leaned to one of the railings, looking out at the fog choked swampland.
There was a thunk and grunt as someone seemed to had jumped from one of the nearby rafts onto his. Geralt glanced back to see Theon, the young man speaking to some of the cranngonmen who were questioning him for recklessly boarding.
"Woah! No need to be so stern, just here to chat with Geralt." He chuckled, hands up slightly as two of the swamp folk surrounded him. A few of Northern bannermen did tense up, ready to come to the Ironborn's defense, but Geralt intervened before things got out of hand.
"It's no trouble, let him be." The simple remark made the cranngonmen nod and move on, letting Theon give a small sigh of relief.
"Humorless bastards." He grumbled as he followed Geralt back to the spot by the railing. "Swear they've had it out for me ever since we've met yesterday."
"Not like you're giving them a reason to get along talking that way." Geralt countered, making Theon frown. "You do have a habit of running your mouth before you think."
"This is not the kind of advice I was expecting."
"I'm giving the blunt truth." Geralt stated. "You've improved since our training back in Winterfell, though you still have some bad habits." Really Theon's behavior reminded him a lot of Dandelion, albeit with the bard having more finesse with his words. "I think you're not telling me everything as well."
"Telling you what exactly?"
"Why you wanted to join the Winter Wolves. While I'm glad you were one of the first to volunteer, I can tell you wanted to join for personal reasons, beyond just loyalty to Robb."
Theon didn't respond at first as he glanced about, making sure no one was close enough to overhear them. When it seemed clear, he sighed deeply before speaking. "Fine…it's the issue of…who I am…"
"Who you are?"
"Yes! I know it sounds damn vague, but that's what it is." Again he sighed, more in frustration. "I know the history of my family…of how I ended up in the care of the Starks."
Geralt understood it, considering the Grayjoy Rebellion was one of the major conflicts during Robert's reign. Theon's father, Balon, had the ambition of independence, building up a fleet and uniting his forces which had suffered minimal losses during Robert's Rebellion. Despite their advantages, they had underestimated the response Robert gave as unified most of Westeros against them. The rest his history with Balon being pardoned, having lost his eldest sons while Theon…well…he was here instead of living on Pyke in the Iron Islands.
"I understand what you mean…" Geralt muttered, nodding his head slightly. "How old were you back then?"
"Only ten." Theon answered as he drew out a dagger to idlily carve into the wood of the railing. "Father…didn't have much of a choice considering."
"I am sorry about your brothers."
The remark made Theon chuckle out, much to Geralt's confusion. "What you mean Rodrik and Maron. Nah…those two were pricks, always finding an excuse to beat me to 'toughen' me up. Father didn't do much, must have approved."
"Ah…I see." Geralt simply replied. "So is it about you possibly being the leader of the Iron Islands? From my understanding their ruler is chosen among the captains?" In a way it was very similar to how the Skelligar's in his world chose their new ruler based off their charisma, merit and gifts shared.
"Aye I know that! I don't expect to just sail up and take the Seastone Throne just because my father sat in it!" Theon argued back. "It's more of what kind of name will I make of myself, beyond being seen as ward to the Starks or just some Ironborn scamp."
"Heh…sort of like what Jon is going through. Unsure what he wants to be in life as well."
Theon seemed to scoff at the comparison. "Like I have anything in compare to that bastard." Suddenly he yelped as Geralt gave a short jab to his side. "Gah! What the hells Geralt!?"
"Call it discipline in this case." The stern look melted Theon's angry glare as he realized how serious the Witcher was. "You have a lot more in common with Jon than you believe. Just you and he have different ways dealing with your issues."
Rubbing his side, Theon calmed down by now. "I want to make something of my life instead of freezing away on The Wall like him."
"It was his choice and he had his reasons, reasons you never bothered to clearly learn."
The simple statement did make Theon glance aside slightly in guilt. "I'll admit I am…selfish and pigheaded at times."
"Most of the time."
Theon scowled but continued. "The point is I have to succeed out here. I know the risks are great…and I have my flaws, but what else but a trial by fire to better myself."
The steady tone was a change from the young man's boastful manners. It seemed he meant what he was saying. "Well…one step at a time." Geralt assured. "I know you're capable Theon, but you need to learn responsibility. There is more than just your life on the line, but also the bannermen under your command and the rest of the band."
Dropping that serious detail did make a nervous look show in Theon's eyes, though he nodded in understanding. "Can't imagine how much harder it is for you."
"Yeah…though I have more experience on such matters." Before anything else could be said, his sharp ears picked out a deep groan, like worn wood and stone creaking together. "I think we're nearing Graywater."
The crannogmen were muttering as they looked ahead into the fog, eyes squinting before they moved to manage the oars and weights to slow the rafts down.
"Wait…I know people claim this castle floats on the rivers…but that has to be impossible." Theon chuckled, though even he could hear the creaking noise ahead. The rest of the Northerners gathered around the railing of the ship, muttering about as they tried to see through the fog. Then at last a towering shadow loomed before them, a keep surrounded by towers. "Gods…" Theon muttered in wide eyed shock, with his fellow soldiers muttering the same.
"Just when you think you've seen it all." Geralt chuckled, being quite surprised by the sight before him, though doing better hiding it.
As the fog faded away the structure could be more clearly seen, a gray stoned keep that seemingly floated in the middle of a wide river. The means of this seemingly impossible feat was massive crannogs, manmade islands made out of buoyant timber with a layer of stone and dirt for sturdier construction. Graywater itself wasn't a large keep, being a quite compact and tall structure, favoring vertical space over width. The highest point was a rickety tower, which from a distance could easily be mistaken for a barren tree. Surrounding the keep were five smaller crannogs with broad towers that resembled watch towers. At the base of these towers were dense spikes that stuck out quite far from the structures to prevent intruders. Connecting between the towers and the keeps were a mix of massive rope lines and wooden bridges, keeping the impossible structure afloat by supporting each other.
"Pick up your jaw Ironborn." The crannogman captain chuckled, drawing both Theon and Geralt's attention. "You should be honored seeing Greywater. Thousands of years your raiders sought out this place but never found it."
"Well…hard to find a drifting castle in the middle of a swamp." The young man muttered as their raft drifted between two of the towers, going under one of the bridges which had archers patrolling across.
The portcullis of the keep would rise up to reveal a wide dock that made up the base of Greywater, offering enough space for the small fleet of rafts to be moored. The inner workings of the docks also included a small man powered crane to off load heavier cargo as well. Greywater no doubt served as a hub for supplies throughout the Neck, supporting all the secluded communities hidden away in the wetlands.
Geralt, Theon and the crannog captain got off the raft once it was tied down, with the Witcher glancing about to see his companions also disembarking as well. Smalljon was the first to approach as the tower man looked about large docking chamber.
"Hah! To think a castle like this could exist! Thought I've seen it all after seeing Winterfell and The Wall." He remarked with an amused laugh. "I didn't expect it to be a literal floating castle. I thought it be more like…built in the swamp."
Dacey along with Beric and Graffin joined up with the others, the woman giving a smirk at Smalljon. "From what I heard they did try that, but all their castles kept sinking into the swamps."
A low yet deep voice chuckled at that remark, making everyone glance over to see a short and broad statured man. Wearing a deep green cloak with the hood up, it covered his face though his full light brown beard showed from under it. Under the cloak he wore a bronze scaled shirt, darkened by age though kept in perfect condition
"Aye, it seemed like there is no bottom to these swamps. Building and men, it seemed to have an endless hunger." The man muttered, drawing odd looks from the others. Their reaction drew a smirk…or perhaps a scowl from him. "Urr…forgive me. Introduction is needed."
Tugging the hood back revealed his features more clearly. While he had same broad features of the crannog, he showed the more 'fairer' features the people further north had. He had long well-kept hair which was partly tied back Age wise he seemed about the same as Eddard had been, though showed more hints of scarring along the face, the most notable being a nick across the right side of his nose and inner cheek. His bright green eyes had a stern squint to them, though not as judging when compared to Stannis.
"Lord Howland Reed, welcome to my home, Winter Wolves." He offered a hand out to shake, a few of the group stepping up to shake hands, with Geralt being last. When they grasped hands, Geralt felt the man's grip tighten though he did the same to counter it. Reed smirked slightly at the show of strength, nodding slightly. "Aye…tough as they said you are." He chuckled. "I remember hearing quite a lot about you during the tournament. For once wish I hadn't skipped the blasted show."
"Always heard you were quite a reclusive man, famous for it even." Geralt commented back as his hand was let go.
"Huh, because even to the rest of the North I'm duller than a rock at any festivities." Waving his hand though, he dismissed the matter. "Enough on pleasantries, we have much to discuss." Glancing to his captain, he quickly spoke up. "Make sure the rafts are prepared by tomorrow. Every hour delayed is an hour given to the enemy."
"Of course Lord Reed." The captain gave a short nod to Geralt and his companions before marching off to direct his men managing the rafts.
Without saying anything else, Howland nodded for the group to follow him along the keep dock towards a wide stairway leading towards. Reaching a new floor, it seemed to be the central hall which interconnected the varying chambers.
As they moved through the central hall to the next stairway up there be an echoing tremble throughout the keep, dust drifting from the mortar stone and even the mix of torches and handle holders rattling about. Smalljon and Thoros even stumbled with their step, making Theon smirk at their fumbling.
"Flame! How the hells do you keep this place from tipping over?!" Thoros grumbled.
"Careful design over thousands of years, at least what my ancestors claim." Howland muttered back. As they moved along they passed by Crannog dressed in leather mason garb. They were tending to a crack in the stone work, putting in a thick tar within the gap before covering it over with fresh mortar. "Greywater is old and requires constant care as it follows the Neck's currents. If the walls crack and leaks happen, the keep will split apart."
"Ugh…reminds me of Pyke." Theon chuckled. "May have been only a kid, but I swear one day my room was just going to slide away if the cliff crumbled."
The jest drew small laughs from the others, since many had heard about the Ironborn's quite impractical keep. Even Geralt smirked slightly at the remark. Howland though didn't even hint at a reaction, his face set in stone with a blank serious look.
"Not much further."
Going up the next flight of stairs, they reached the third floor of the keep which seemed dedicated to living spaces. Reaching one door along the main hallway, the group entered a plain meeting room. The table had a detailed map of the Neck and Riverlands along with plates of cooked river fish, grilled mushrooms and other delicacies expected of the region.
"I'm sure after a week of rations, a proper meal would be welcomed."
The invitation to eat had the group sit down around the table. Geralt sat next to the head seat which Howland took while his companions took whatever seat they wanted. Thoros was the only exception, sitting beside Geralt. As everyone filled their plates, Geralt was quick to speak up.
"One of your captains gave a rundown on what's been happening further south. Scouts disappearing, the Freys massing their forces and talk of a militia in Fairmarket."
Howland nodded. "Your group surely knows what my men are capable of when it comes to stealth. The scouts I've sent are masters of it, yet seemingly they've disappeared whenever they near the Red Fork." The lord gestured to the long river that stretched north along the River Road, the main route through the Riverlands. "They're skilled warriors and survivalists, meaning they can live off the land without drawing attention."
"Seems in this case someone is expecting them." Dacey remarked, the young woman having a thoughtful look. "We can't be certain of what the allegiances of the Houses in the Riverlands have, even ones like the Tully's."
"A possibility." Howland stated. "However the real issue is with House Frey. You all must know by now that he's gathered up most of his forces around the Twins. Lord Walder can easily hold back our forces because of their numbers and defenses, if he has no interest letting our forces use his damned bridge."
"Which will grind the whole war plan to a halt. Aye we know all of that." Smalljon bluntly remarked. "But let's say Geralt pulls his Witcher charm and arranges passage. What can we expect around Fairmarket?"
"Hm…a good point. In truth the land between Riverrun, Fairmarket and Harrenhal has become a no-mans land of sorts. The mercenaries led by the Brave Companions have been raiding the Small Folk, forcing most to labor on rebuilding parts of Harrenhal. However in the last few months they've faced resistance."
"From the local lords?" Graffin questioned. "If they are pillaging that much territory, men like Lord Blackwood would strike back."
Howland shook his head. "Not when his forces are spread so thin and the mercenaries focusing on easy targets. By the time an attack is learned of, they'll be long gone." Reed did pause though before continuing. "Yet from what my men reported before disappearing was the Small Folk started to organize, I'm sure you heard rumors of that."
"Small pieces." Geralt remarked back. "Militias don't seem to be a common thing during conflicts."
"And you'd be right, but with the last war leaving so many veterans around, they're not going to stand by and lose everything." Howland replied. "Don't know how many have joined together, only that they're centered around Fairmaket and they're being led by someone only known as Marcus. From what was gathered, he's been focusing on protecting the surrounding communities, turning Fairmarket into a small fortress while leading his own raids against the mercenaries."
The name did draw an odd look from both Graffin and Smalljon, who muttered between each other. The veteran bannerman shook his head though, seeming to disbelieve whatever was discussed.
"So…does that mean when we get there we're going to be facing some angry farmers with pitchforks?" Theon jested, though grunting as Dancy beside him gave a small elbow to silence him.
"Don't plan to fight if that's what you're implying." Geralt countered. "That town is their home and while our leaders wish to use it for liberating the Riverlands, the people there have the real final say."
"Tell that to King Stannis if this militia says no." Thoros grunted.
At that point Howland intervened. "You'll no doubt deal with that issue when the time comes. The pressing issue for the militia though is that the Brave Companions are marching on them."
"You mean they plan to raze the whole town? If they are based in Harrenhal that is a good march, especially with so many rivers to cross." Geralt questioned.
"If you knew how ruthless Vargo Hoat was then you wouldn't question it. To him getting slighted by peasants is an insult to his reputation."
"Great…more reason to hurry there. So then what are we going up against and how much time do we have?"
"Only guesses. The Companions are said to be around two hundred strong, but if Hoat is rounding up the smaller mercenary bands, he could add a few hundred more to his numbers. As for their march to the town, it could be days…maybe a week from what the last report told."
Smalljon brushed his beard at the details, an eager grin on his face. "Be rough running into them."
"You make it sound like we can take them. I don't think a few hundred outnumbering us be favorable." Beric questioned which made Graffin chuckle out.
"Well…maybe if everyone takes down five men on their own. Perhaps that will count." The veteran dryly jested before giving a troubled groan. "Seems we face a strategic crisis. If Fairmarket is destroyed we'll lack a suitable area to base our main army. Just reorganizing could set us back by weeks or months."
"Then haste is what's needed." Geralt muttered in agreement before looking to Howland. "You said you could have the rafts ready by tomorrow?"
"My men can have them ready by tomorrow. I can even gather up a troop of scouts to help support you."
Graffin nodded at the idea. "Some of the men will not be happy we'll be on the move again but considering the circumstances they'll understand. Also, while the crannog are a gruff sort, they know the land westward better than us old timers. We never marched too far from the Forks really. Their guidance could shave a day or two off our march if we get past the Twins."
"I'll take your word on that then…" Geralt replied in agreement. "Anyway, lets iron out the details so we can report all of this back to Lord Robb and the King by raven."
…
The following hour passed by quickly as the new marching route was sorted, favored rougher but more direct route from the Twins to Fairmarket. They even arranged for extra supplies with Lord Reed, materials and other medical stock that could help in negotiating with the militia later on. With a full report on their progress along with the changes to their approach, the group began to leave the room. New orders had to be given to the bannermen, encouraging everyone focus on resting up for the next stretch of traveling.
As the last of the Witcher's companions got up to leave, he glanced at Howland who had lingered as well. At this point it seemed like the right time to question the lord, to at last learn the truth on Eddard's dying secret about Jon.
"I can see the look in those cat eyes of yours Geralt. A nagging question that I have a feeling I won't like."
Geralt didn't respond beyond a short nod, getting up to check the hallway before closing the door. "Aye…it's on a personal matter involving Eddard."
The mention of the late warden did make the constant glare the man gave soften slightly. A faint hint of grief showing, even if for a second. "When I heard he accepted to become the Hand, I knew it wouldn't end well. Ned was too damn honest when it came to politics. Always laughed at how it get him killed." A dry laugh followed, Reed rubbing one hand along the side of his head.
"You're right…even I with my own experience was caught off guard." Geralt muttered in agreement while he paced around the table. "So to the point…it's about Jon Snow."
The mention of the bastard Stark made Reed gaze snap right at the Witcher, Geralt sensing a tense feeling from the man for a split second. "I've heard of the lad, being Ned's…son." Out of respect he excluded the bastard detail. "I've never met him since I haven't visited Winterfell since the end of the Rebellion."
"From what I gathered though you were with Eddard during the end of the conflict. When he was returning home he had Jon with him as a baby. If you were with him at the time, then you would have known that."
The deduction drew a small growl from the man before he nodded. "Fine…I was with him when that happened. Ned insisted we go back to some town we stayed at for a while, having had a little…fling with a kindly servant at the inn there."
"A fling. Considering what I know about Eddard, even at that age he had quite the sense of honor, especially with his loyalty to his wife to be at the time."
A scoffed escaped from Reed, a smirk on his face. "Maybe you just didn't know him as well as you thought."
Geralt in reaction though nodded. "I think you're right. Seems Ned was a better liar than I thought." The comment drew a confused look from Howland. "It comes down to what he said to me on his deathbed. 'Not the father'."
The words seemed to almost be a punch to Howland, a body tensing in a show of nerves. "You're making a mistake discussing this Witcher." His voice was low, nearly a whisper but having a dire threat to it. "What is your angle in prying into this?"
"Simply wanting to know the truth along with giving closure for the rest of the Starks, especially Jon." Geralt calmly countered. "However I have an idea on why he went so far to hide this." Slowly Geralt paced closer to Reed, yellow eyes closely reading his body language and sharp ears listening to his tense heart rate.
Howland didn't respond, jaw clenched in growing frustration. It was so quick how Geralt had spiked the man's aggression, even though they had spoken normally for the last few hours.
"Despite not being Ned's son, he is still a Stark. Has every physical trait matching to them." The Witcher continued. "There was only one other living Stark who could have had a child at that time, Ned's sister, Lyanna." There was a long pause as that name was spoken, Howland's fierce glare softening ever so slightly hearing it.
"Don't you dare drag her into this…"
Geralt though kept speaking. "If anything she's the spark that started the event of Robert's Rebellion. Her disappearing with Rhaegar, the crown Targaryen prince, all with rumors of a forbidden romance between them. A classic tale of romance that begets war." He stood close to the lord, hands resting on the table, leaving himself exposed for an attack…inviting it even.
"So…some crazed conspiracy then? A whole war, countless lives lost over youthful love?" Reed growled.
"No. The Mad King started it when he killed Ned's father and brother, but we're not changing the subject." Geralt responded calmly. "I know you were there the day Ned found Lyanna, the day she died and Jon was born. A day that would make any man swear an oath that he'd take with him to the grave."
Reed didn't respond, though Geralt could hear his hand clench under his cloak, of skin grasping along the leather grip of a weapon.
"Because if the world knew who his father was…Robert would have ruined all of the North just to get at him."
At that moment Howland's chair was flung back, lunging forward with his short sword out. There was no hesitation in his attack, the man not even making a sound, only having a fierce look of cold determination. If it had been anyone else that blade would be right in their chest, but for the Witcher he was fast enough to catch the man's wrist to halt that stab.
"Well…you answered my question then." Geralt stated, not even fazed.
"What answer?!" Howland growled.
"There's only one family that Robert hated beyond measure, the Targaryens. That means Jon's real father is Rhaegar, making him half Targaryen. In Robert's eyes though, half is enough to have wanted him dead." His stance shifted as Reed struggled to wrestle free from the Witcher's grasp, but even his fierce strength couldn't outmatch.
Despite their grapple, a scowled grin across Howland's face. "They did say you were a determined one. A real mad man for sure."
At that point Geralt pushed back to shove the lord away, putting some distance between them. Howland didn't move to attack again, though his stance had him at the ready. "So…do you plan to tell me what you know about Jon or just trying to kill me? Because a lot more is at stake than just what this civil war brings."
The final statement made Howland lower his weapon more, the man seeming to have a deeper understanding on what the Witcher hinted. "You do know there are risks to this? This sodded cycle of bloodlines, succession and thrones?" Giving a tired groan, he pitched the bridge of his nose in stress. "Twenty years, keeping it all a secret. For Ned it must have been maddening." Propping the knocked over chair up, he sat down with a low dry chuckle. "Fine…I'll tell you what happened that day. Then judge your intentions."
Leaning back, he took a long breath, eyes closed as he seemed to think back to decades past. "Let me tell you about the day Jon…no…Aemon…was born."
…
Notice: Ugh its been an exhausting few months. I'm sure I don't need to explain how stressful times had been, especially for me since I've been continuously working. Writing has slowed down more then I wished and I deeply apologize to everyone on such a long wait. There were some days I could write whole pages, only to get caught up on just one paragraph. I am dedicated to this story, even if the world feels like it's literally trying to get me.
Anyway more of a transition chapter with a few reveals and build ups! It is good to show off Howland Reed, since he has one of Westeros's biggest secrets considering. Considering how little is known about him, I do hope I presented him and the people of the Neck properly. Next chapter is going to hop back to Jon after so long and continue Geralt's journey as he at last has to deal with the Walder Frey.
As always, thank you all for your support! Always feel free to comment message or chat on the forums. Keep your masks handy and stay safe as well!