Chapter 18: The Shadow Wolf
A/N: megagnura your comment made me laugh out loud so much :) thank you! And yes it's true those Starks have a habit of getting busy!!!
Jon bent and added more logs to the fire to remove the chill from the room, he had learnt quickly to pre empt what the Lord Commander would want and to just do it. Despite being kind to Jon, sometimes Jeor Mormont was gruff and prone to ordering Jon around as if he was angry with him. Pulling his heavy cloak further around his shoulders he stood back and watched the logs jump to life with fire and appreciated the warmth they exuded. The door suddenly opened and in bustled the Lord Commander with Alliser Thorne, upon sighting Jon, Thorne curled his lip in distaste as if he'd eaten something extremely sour and raked a cold gaze over him. The colour left Jon's face and he stepped hastily back as to not be in the way and awaited instructions from his superiors.
Jeor give several swift, gruff orders for food and ale and Jon jumped to comply. Anything to be free of that raking gaze, it seemed to bore into Jon's soul and unnerved him. He was glad to never be in the presence of that man, and his skin crawled every moment that he was. The feeling was mutual, and both men never regarded each other with warmth. Jon was thankful for the fact he had no longer been subjected to Alliser's cruel training programs, but poor Sam would fill him in at the end of the day. Jon's mind flicked to his friend, noble born and deemed not good enough by his Father, he felt some sort of connection to him despite having different circumstances himself. He still felt like he didn't belong in the North, even though he loved the snows. For several hours Jon was at their beck and call, and he complied without complaint but he deeply missed his training. And was still nursing disappointment at being named as a steward instead of a ranger. Standing guard along the wall while his superiors discussed their ranging plans, Jon recalled the last words his Uncle had said to him before he went ranging North of the Wall.
"There is a reason for everything Jon, don't be so quick to believe being a steward is less important than a ranger. You only see a small piece of your life instead of the whole picture. The Lord Commander has much to teach you, and you have much to learn"
Jon saw his Uncles warm smile before he mounted his horse and rode off through the tunnel leading to the other side of the Wall, he hadn't been seen since. His comrades were found weeks later, cold and stiff their eyes wide and staring in death. None had known they would spring to life after being dragged into Castle Black in the dead of night, and if it hadn't have been for Jon's inability to sleep who knows the damage they might've caused. Involuntarily Jon shivered at the memory of their blue eyes coming towards him, he had saved the Lord Commander that night and his act had immediately elevated him to being full time in his company. Something Jon wasn't entirely sure he was pleased with, but he reminded himself of his Uncles words and tried his best to accept his position.
A sharp voice roused Jon from his reverie and he was jolted back to the present by the sneering voice of Alliser Thorne holding up his mug for more ale. Again Jon jumped to obey, filling the ale and offering some to Lord Commander before piling more logs on the dying down embers. Shortly after Alliser left with a final raking gaze at Jon and a sneer of his lip and Jon breathed out in relief.
Lord Commander Mormont was rolling up the maps and organising paperwork while Jon tidied up the dishes and cups. After clean up Lord Commander Mormont took a seat by the fire with a sigh and indicated Jon sit with him. Jon sunk into the seat and stared into the flames before feeling the Lord Commanders gaze on him. Jon's gaze met his and he flushed and averted his gaze looking broodingly at his hands on his lap.
The Lord Commander reached across and poured Jon a mug of ale and handed the cup to him, reluctantly Jon took it and sipped the bitter brew.
Again he felt the Lord Commanders gaze on him and raised his eyes to meet his, the Lord Commander smiled like a kindly father figure before he spoke.
"You are struggling with your new appointment lad," he said softly
Jon shrugged insolently, "I'm fine"
The Lord Commander chuckled heartily and took a longer swig, "I've had sons my lad, I know when someone is unhappy. You had your heart set on being a Ranger, and had the makings of a fine one at that," he sighed, "but your Uncle was right. You have already been trained how to be a leader-"
"My Uncle? He had a say in this?" despite himself Jon felt a little wounded his uncle had a hand in this.
"Your Uncle simply mentioned what kind of training you've been receiving at Winterfell. You have skills none of these new recruits possess, and they'll never possess them either. Lad did you not understand? Your Father was training you how to be a leader," he impressed the last word with emphasis, "one thing we lack is good leadership here. Sure you're a fine swordsmen, but we don't need that. We have plenty of criminals from dungeons all over Westeros who can wield a sword"
Jon listened with only half opened ears, instead he felt more wounded his Uncle had helped him lose his dream.
"Where is my Uncle?" replied Jon softly, his eyes on the flames.
The Lord Commander sighed uneasily, "We've had no sighting of him and we all know the fate that befell his men," he leaned forward and pressed a hand on Jon's knee, "we need to prepare for the worst"
Jon briefly raised his gaze and nodded, his heart sinking. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it and sat back in his chair sipping his ale.
"What did you want to say lad? Speak your mind"
Jon grimaced before speaking slowly, "I've had dreams, about him lost in the woods"
The Lord Commander raised one eyebrow in curiosity, "Is that so? Tell me more lad. What did you see?"
Jon explained his dreams, how they're always the same, he sees Benjen lost North of the Wall trying to get back to the Wall before hearing screeches behind him. Then everything goes black.
Lord Commander sits back and considers Jon for a moment, "How long has this been happening son?"
Jon shrugged, "Before Uncle Benjen left"
"Did you tell him?"
Jon shook his head, "I didn't think it was real. They came nightly once he left"
"I see" replied the Lord Commander.
"You don't believe me," Said Jon sullenly.
The Lord Commander stared at him with an even gaze and a passive face, "I do believe you. Remember son I'm from the North just like you, and I've seen my own fair share of strange things. What else have you seen?"
For a moment Jon looked uncomfortable, "I've seen a swarm of dead chasing me,"
The Lord Commander leaned forward eagerly, "Where?"
Jon shrugged, "I've never been North of the Wall so I don't know"
The Lord Commander nodded and sat back slightly, "What happens next?"
"There is a loud roaring sound and I'm dragged underground. Then everything goes black and I wake up"
"And it's the same every time?"
Jon simply nods and takes a long swig of his mug.
"Does anyone else know of these dreams?"
Jon shook his head in response.
"Good," said Lord Commander firmly taking his mug from Jon, "tell no one but me. Anything at all no matter how small, I want to hear it. Understand?"
Jon nodded again, feeling a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Lord Commander rose and grabbed two plates from the cupboard laden with a thick stew and bread.
"Listen lad," the tone in his voice was softer, "I see potential in you. Trust the path you're on is right for you, you only see what you are missing out on. But truthfully, you can still wield a sword but I will teach you to wield another powerful weapon. Your mind"
Hungrily Jon shovelled the nourishing stew as he listened to his superior speak, still not convinced.
"Of course we need to organise your vows. Which will be taken North of the Wall…."
Jon's eyes shot up at those words, and swallowed quickly.
"When can I take my vows?"
The Lord Commander smiled as he dipped his bread in his bowl which steamed up in tendrils around his hand.
"When you're ready son, and not a moment before"
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The horse whinnied as it chased another rider through the forest, the pair jumped over logs and ducked under branches as the thrill of the chase heated up. Robb laughed out loud at the tenacity of his opponent, the pale mare disappeared around a rocky path. He pushed forward in pursuit feeling the air rush against his skin, the wind roaring in his ears. Trotting around the rocky path he spots the pale mare tethered and cropping at grass lazily, sweat streaking her side. The rider nowhere to be seen. Solemnly Robb pulled up near the mare and dismounted with a light jump, rubbing his stallions face affectionately before lightly tethering him. Senses straining he cast out his mind looking for his opponent, where did they go? Cautiously he stepped over tree roots, birds singing above his head and pushed further in. A short time later he heard a splash and a laugh and his keen senses directed him where to go. One minute he was pushing through the thick forest and the next he emerged to stand beside a still pool which was only broken by a waterfall at one end and a woman swimming. Her golden hair shone in the light and floated in all directions around her as her naked body floated on the surface of the pool. Robb felt a stirring within and hurriedly stripped off his clothes and waded out to her, scooping her in his arms and kissing her fiercely with her face cupped between both hands as the water fell cascaded behind them.
Some hours later Robb's stallion trotted back into the yard of Casterly Rock, it's hooves clattering loudly on the stones. Robb dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting stable boy, strutting across the stable he scooped up the brushes and smiling began to rub down his steed. He carefully brushed the stallion until his sweat flecked coat shone again. Satisfied he scattered fresh hay in the stall and gave his beloved ride a parting a pat on the rump as he lipped contentedly at the hay on the floor. Nodding to the stable boys as he passed through Robb felt a lightness in his step and warmth in his heart. He remembered the touch of her skin on his as they coupled in the forest away from prying eyes. Momentarily Robb glanced up at the towering castle above him built perfectly into the jutting rock, gleaming wonderfully bright in the sun. Footsteps clattered towards him, Robb turned to look as one of Tywins servants approached.
"Lord Stark," he began breathlessly, "you've been summoned by Lord Tywin"
"Where is he?"
The servant turned and shielded the sun from his eyes and pointed, Robb followed his gaze and spotted Tywin watching from a balcony.
Robbs face shadowed a little before he thanked the messenger and entered the grand castle. A short time later Robb emerged on the balcony to stand alongside Tywin, who did not acknowledge his arrival. Robb glanced at Tywin scrutinising the reason for his summoning.
After a period of time, Tywin spoke, "Fun morning?" his voice was tight, and Robbs heart sank a little but he stood firm.
"It was a nice ride in the forest, refreshing"
Tywin turned and fixed his ice cold glare to Robb, "Your Father sent you here because you will succeed him as leader of the North. Tell me did you waste your days in the North riding in forests and spilling your seed all over the place?"
The fury was barely concealed in Tywins voice, Robbs face blanched a little but he said nothing. Below them the sounds of daily life clattered on, the shout of soldiers training and horses hooves clattering on the ground.
"Well? Im waiting for an answer" spoke Tywin coldly as he fixed his stare on Robb, "Do you want to be a useless leader? Im certain your Father sent you here because he wants different for you"
A little ashamed Robb broke his gaze and looked to his feet, and leaned heavily on the balustrade.
"I don't want to be a useless leader…."started Robb.
"Well you obviously have too much time on your hands if you think you can bed my distant relatives in the forest. I'll not have your bastards running around my court, starting today im extending your responsibilities. You'll now follow me on a daily basis and sit in on meetings and listen to what happens there. I expect you to listen carefully, you won't have a spare moment to yourself anymore. And if you think that's unfair well I have news for you son, when you're a ruler you rarely have a moment to yourself, so get used to it"
Robb bent his head in agreement knowing to argue was futile, he went to open his mouth to speak but Tywin cut him off.
"And as for my distant cousin she will find herself a pot of moon tea waiting for her later today," he whirled around and ended coldly with emphasis, "if I find you in bed with another Lannister woman I'll castrate you myself. You are not here to breed"
And without another word he turned and left Robb alone on the balcony watching over the busy castle yard in his wake.
Inside, Robb knew Tywin was right. He had been idle and had outgrown the first set of lessons Tywin had set for him. Grudgingly he knew the time for play was over and that he must refocus. Shaking his head to himself he mused, he was just beginning to feel some sort of rapport with Tywin before today. And part of him regretted losing that, after all any kind of positive regard from Tywin was hard won. Steeling himself, Robb looked all around him determined to redeem himself, he remained on the balcony overseeing the comings and goings of those below him absorbing the sound of the castle.
As promised, Robb had no time to himself. He followed Tywin from before sunrise until well into the night. Attended all meetings no matter how menial and listened to every word that was spoken. He resolved to ignore the pretty serving maids at court, and he never saw another Lannister woman while in Tywins company. At night he was left alone with his memories that ached his loins, and all he could do was relieve himself of the ache that sometimes grew unbearable.
Every day mirrored the last until weeks had passed and Robb had begun to see the logic in Tywins decision. Robbs mind became laser focused, he came to see the undercurrent of Tywins political decisions and understood the dynamics of ruling the Westerlands. He hoped he had what it took to rule the North as efficiently as Tywin ruled the West. At the end of every day Tywin questioned Robb until his voice broke about the happenings of the day. It was an intense training, but an effective one and slowly but surely Robb felt the coldness from Tywin reducing as he managed to satisfy him with his more accurate answers and thoughts. Tywin would discuss his reasons for favouring one of his men over the other and the history behind his decisions while they had dinner together. Every night it was the same, until one night a messenger slipped into the room and waited patiently for Tywin to finish speaking. When he did he turned and regarded the messenger coldly, until he permitted them to speak.
The messenger presented a scroll and nervously edged out of the room unaware of what they had done wrong.
Tywin opened the scroll and made a sound of annoyance before tossing the scroll on the table between him and Robb. Unsure Robb made no move to pick it up until Tywin spoke.
"Read it," was all he said before returning to his meal.
Robb read the note twice unsure what to make of it, before saying uncertainly, "Tyrion is returning home?"
Tywin looked up from his meal and snatched back to scroll, "My son," he spoke the words with acid.
Robb looked confused, so Tywin continued.
"You have no children young man, and so you cannot truly know the meaning of disappointment until that time comes"
Robb shrugged and spoke without thinking, "I know I was pretty disappointed in myself when i angered you not too long ago. Maybe you're being too harsh"
"Is that so? Maybe you're getting too bold to speak to me in such a way"
Robb knew better than to look up and catch Tywins gaze, he could hear the anger in his voice and chose to eat his meal faster.
Tyrions horse clattered along the road as he entered the Riverlands, the lurch of the horse and clinking of bridles had become commonplace to Tyrion on this journey. Bored with Winterfell, he had quickly left his siblings and ventured North. He wanted to see the Wall. Tyrion smiled to himself as he remembered seeing the mammoth ice wall looming in his vision. It had been as cold as a witch's tit there and he had no desire to return there again. But what a wonder it was, ice as high as he could see for as far as he could see. There were more than a few curious things at the wall too, one which had haunted him since he left for a reason he couldn't figure out. The Stark bastard, barely a man but there was something to him, something more than the Nights Watch. As Tyrions horse meandered through the Riverlands in a much more bearable climate for him he recalled the first time he met the boy.
Standing at the top of the Wall was a milestone for Tyrion, reinforcing what a wonder the people of the past had been to create such a feat. He hadn't come all that way to not piss off the wall, and after he accomplished what he'd always jested with his men about doing he turned and caught the gaze of the boy. A deep, soulful and troubled gaze that caught him unaware.
"Bit cold up here for a southerner," the boy had said, barely hiding the barb in his words.
Tyrion shrugged off his words, "It's one of the wonders of our world, I couldn't come all this way and not see our famous Wall. You're the Stark bastard aren't you?"
A look of contempt swept across the boys face as a wind picked up and caused the furry coat about the boys shoulders to ruffle wildly. Tyrion smiled and approached the fire which crackled between them rubbing his numb hands in the warmth emanating from the flames.
Despite himself Jon stepped forward and joined him, sharing a long period of silence with Tyrion. After a time of quietness, Jon tentatively made eye contact with Tyrion before looking away.
"Got something to say bastard?" smiled Tyrion.
This time Jon flicked a cold, contemptuous gaze over Tyrion.
"Does that offend you? Being called bastard?"
The flames flickered between the two men crackling contentedly.
"I've always been a bastard"
"And I've always been a dwarf"
"It's not the same," retorted Jon to which Tyrion scoffed before breaking out into laughter.
"A bastard boy with nothing to inherit come to join the Nights Watch, why did you leave everything you know bastard? For this," he opens his arms wide indicating the desolate, cold blustery top of the Wall.
"Talk to me nicely and I'll tell you," spoke Jon with a constricted voice as if he was barely containing himself.
"Do the others talk to you nicely bastard? The rapers, the murderers you call brothers? Is this the family you thought you'd be joining when you left the comfort of Winterfell?"
Unexpectantly Jon's face softened its hardened expression, "No," he admitted quietly, "it's not"
He had looked sideways all around him as soon as the words left his mouth as if he was afraid someone might hear him.
"Let me tell you something," started Tyrion, "in a Fathers eyes dwarves are always bastards. I don't let anyone use it against me, I wear it like fucking armour so no one has it over me. You need to do that too, otherwise being a bastard will bother you your whole life"
Jon's gaze didn't falter at these words, they seemed to seep over him as if a gentle wave had emanated from Tyrion, he blinked and nodded slightly. The fire hissed and danced and the wind howled around them.
That had been on the first encounter with the boy, Tyrion had several exchanges with him during his brief time at Castle Black and he felt a fondness developing every time. The boy was sharp, in his mind and his body but still had much to learn. Tyrion reflected on this as the horse continued its journey towards Casterly Rock.
Jon sits alongside Tyrion one morning and turns his head to read the cover of the book. Tyrion flicks his eyes to look at Jon as he moves his lips reading the title of the book.
"Why do you read?" he questions with curiosity.
"Why do you fight?" Tyrion replies casually without lifting his gaze from the page.
Jon stops for a moment, thinking of his answer as his brothers of the Watch file in for breakfast and throw suspicious glances at Tyrion.
"Because," began Jon slowly, "when I fight I feel- clear"
He points to his head and then flushes slightly and turns to swing his legs under the table in irritation.
"When I pick up my sword I feel many things but when I put the sword down I feel completely different. Like something changes in me every time I wield my weapon"
With a snap Tyrion closed his book and turned to face Jon, a calm expression on his face.
"You use weapons to fight, stay strong and sharp. I," he taps the side of his forehead, "use my mind. I stay sharp by learning. Despite my appearances I am born a Lannister and certain things are expected of me. I can't wield a sword like you, so I work on my mind. You'd be wise to start yourself, excuse me"
Maester Aemon had shuffled into the room and Tyrion had been waiting for his chance to meet the last living Targaryen. Said to be extremely wise Tyrion had been waiting eagerly just to catch a glimpse of the surprisingly busy man. Without a thought Tyrion pushed the book into Jon's hands and left him alone with the book in his hands.
He ran his fingers along the faded Ruby red cover and felt the rough texture of the cover, turning it over several times he opened the book and read several pages whilst Tyrion watched across the room as he finally conversed with Aemon Targaryen.
Tyrion had been so deep in thought he had neglected his new riding partner Bronn. A rough sell sword who saved him from being dragged from an inn and beaten several nights previously. They had ridden together ever since.
"Were you talking to me?"
"I was, until you didn't fucking talk back and I realised I was talking to a fucking wall," replied the sell sword in irritation.
"Apologies my friend," chuckled Tyrion using heavy emphasis on the word friend, as the sell sword had vehemently denied the notion the pair were friends of any kind. Bronn clicked his mouth in annoyance and rode ahead leaving a chuckling Tyrion in his wake.
Days later Casterly Rock came into view, Bronn could barely keep his mouth from opening wide when he saw it for the first time.
Tyrion always loved seeing the enormous castle straddling the hill, it's size and grandeur never stopped amazing him, but he also felt a degree of apprehension. Even from all this distance he felt his fathers cold rage at the prospect of him returning home. A shiver ran down his spine and he contemplated turning his horse and going back to the Nights Watch. He quickly remembered the cold and the company he'd have to keep with the murderers and rapists and the choice was easy. He spurred his horse forward and chose his unforgiving father instead wondering what awaited him on arrival.
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The wind howled outside in fury, an unnatural storm had settled over Winterfell. Branches and rain clattered against the window panes as Catelyn shivered and bid Ned to pile more logs on the fire. Despite the hot springs below this unnatural storm created a persistent chill in the air. Bran was propped up in his bed, eating a bowl of thick stew hungrily. His appetite was great since he woke and was recovering from the fall which almost killed him. The room was quiet except for the scraping of the spoon on the bowl, Catelyn remained in a deep depression worrying for Arya and Ned was preoccupied with thoughts of war and revenge. Bran scraped his bowl empty and looked at it wishing for more, Catelyn looked up and smiled slightly.
"Still hungry?" she held out her hand, "I'll go to the kitchens and get another bowl"
Bran smiled, "Thank you Mother"
Catelyn took the bowl and exited the room, Ned didn't seem to notice. He sat in front of the fire chewing his fingernails, every so often he would mutter something and gesticulate with his hands causing Lyarra to stir and whine but otherwise he was quiet.
"Father," said Bran softly, Ned didn't response.
"Father," he said, louder this time. Ned sat up and turned back to his injured son, his eyes were red rimmed and tired. He had taken the Bolton betrayal badly.
"I need to talk to you" said Bran simply to his weary father.
"What is it son?" spoke Ned, tiredly and with a sadness in his voice.
Bran cleared his throat, "We must expect a visitor, a family member"
Ned's eyes lit up, "Arya?"
Bran paused before shaking his head sadly, "No Father not Arya"
"Is she ever coming back?" pleaded Ned, his eyes wet with tears.
Bran looked down at his hands and fidgeted, searching for answers.
"I see possibilities Father, there is a possibility she will return…..but equally possible is she remains lost forever. I can't help her, she's too far away"
Ned gazed evenly at his son for several minutes before dropping his gaze into his lap.
"The Old Gods are truly punishing me, and I deserve it son. I've made some mistakes, and only now am I paying the price"
Bran remained quiet as his Father lamented silently by the fire.
"Father," spoke Bran again, "we have a visitor"
"Who?" questioned Ned in exasperation, "who could possibly be coming from our family? My children are scattered around Westeros, one is lost, one is broken-" he stopped himself from saying anymore before shuddering and continuing softly, "son, I'm sorry"
Bran sat patiently, his hands folded in his lap while Ned held his head in his hands. Bran continued knowing his Fathers grief was no use to him.
"Father, we have a visitor coming and we must welcome them. They're family, and must be treated as such"
Ned looked up and nodded, "Son tell me who this visitor is"
"I see the past, present and future Father. The visions come fast, too fast to make much sense out of mostly. But I am slowly learning how to make the visions move at a slower pace and this is how I found her"
Realisation dawned on Ned's face, "You have uncovered some secrets then"
Bran nodded slowly, "I know about my brothers, and cousin. Don't worry, I will tell no one as it's not my place to say" he finished in a rush.
Ned exhaled loudly, "I've carried many secrets of this family, the burden is heavy. I have some regrets"
"You did the right thing. It would do no one good to have known."
"Are you sure of this? Sometimes I question myself" spoke Ned softly, his voice full of regret.
Bran shook his head, "No Father, by keeping these secrets you protected more than one person and helped us in ways you'll never know"
Again Ned rubbed his face, "It relieves me to hear these words son-"
The door opened abruptly and Catelyn returned with Brans bowl full again, her face was ashen. She crossed the room and placed the bowl in Brans lap and looked to Ned, who returned a questioning look.
"We have a visitor Ned," she spoke shakily, "I came across them on my return from the kitchens and directed them to follow me here"
Ned looked to the doorway, standing in the doorway flanked by Stark guards stood Ros. The Stark medallion hung proudly around her neck, it was the only jewellery she wore and it stood out. Ned instantly recognised her, he knew all the young in Wintertown and he knew she was a whore.
"Father, I told you we have a visitor. This is Ros"
"I know Ros," answered Ned gruffly
"Ros is Uncle Benjen's daughter, I've been trying to tell you"
Ned looked to the ground and swore, internally he cried to the Old Gods, more secrets coming to stand in front of him.
Catelyn stood stiffly in the corner of the room across from Ned, Bran sat patiently his gaze fixed on Ros.
Ros remained in the doorway, her face defiant and her gaze on Bran. His gaze unnerved her but she did her best to conceal her discomfort.
"Ros my Father is struggling with some issues not of your concern, please come sit with us"
The guards lowered their spears and Ros stepped forward confidently pulling her shawl about her shoulders as she sat nearest to Catelyn, who regarded her suspiciously.
"Mother, Father," Bran addressed his parents, "Ros is family, we must treat her as such. The magic is in her veins too, and she has talents of her own. Show them what you can do"
Ros smiled and a brilliant shower of sparks rained through the air, butterflies flitted in the air and flowers burst from the walls. A woman stood behind Ros and placed her hand on her shoulder smiling radiantly, she appeared as real as Ros. Even her shadow was cast on the wall behind her, as quick as the images came they receded.
"What was that?" asked Ned in shock.
"Illusions, Ros is a mistress of illusions. She can make the most beautiful ones too"
Ned and Catelyn exchanged a look, Bran caught it.
"Ros, explain to my parents how you use your illusions"
Ros looked uncomfortable but proceeded at Brans prompting, "I spin illusions to make men think they have lain with me, when my mother realised the strength of what I could do she hid me in the brothel to keep me safe. She feared your family would hurt me if you found out who I was"
"Why would she think that?" asked Ned incredulously, "I would never hurt a child of this family, no matter where they came from!"
"Not all Starks were like you Father, you haven't always been the leader of this family"
Ros nodded, "My mother told me that my grandfather threatened my Father. He said he would leave any children born of their union out for the old gods to claim"
Ned shook his head, "That is a bold claim young lady…..does Benjen know of you?"
"Yes," answered Ros quietly, "he came to visit and begged me to go with him. I refused, but then-" she faltered and her gaze shot to Bran, "then the dreams started. And I couldn't shake them, I knew I would have no peace until I make amends with the Starks. But after I do so I will be on my way, I will not rely on my Fathers name to build a life for myself"
Ned and Catelyn again looked to one another, "What dreams?" said Ned.
Ros looked uncomfortable, "Ravens chasing me, men with blue eyes dragging me from my bed, ashes falling from the sky over a sea of dead bodies as far as I can see in all directions. Then the dead all open their eyes and come for me, millions of them"
She shudders as she finishes recounting her dreams, nervously she looks to Bran.
"It was you wasnt it? You sent me the dreams, until you found me I slept peacefully"
Bran returned her gaze with a passive face, "When you touch the wolf I can't control how your abilities change, the dreams started after your meeting with Benjen. I simply tried to communicate with you"
"Have you lain with men in that brothel?" pressed Catelyn from beside Ros.
"Mother-" started Bran, but Ros cut him off.
"I have been deflowered," declared Ros, "but only by one and I consumed moon tea afterwards"
Ned groaned softly, he knew his sons had been to that place. He had ignored it because he didn't see the harm that could come from it, but now he dreaded knowing the truth.
"Have you lain with your cousins?" asked Ned tiredly, his head in his hands dreading the answer.
Ros lifted her chin defiantly, "Not my cousins by blood, no"
"But you've lain with someone in this castle" stated Catelyn, reading between Ros' words.
Ros smiled simply and said, "Yes Lady Catelyn, I've lain with Theon Greyjoy. He's the only one I didn't spin my illusion for"
"Why?" questioned Ned, his gaze sharp.
Ros shrugged with a wry smile, "Cant a girl be attracted to a boy? He made me feel something. And believe me after years alone spinning illusions it gets lonely. He made me laugh, there was some light in my life"
Ned listened respectfully and for the first time it dawned to him how hard Ros life would've been. Motherless, unknown to her family, living in a brothel….he understood.
Ned cleared his throat and stood crossing the room to stand in front of her. He kneeled and took her hand in his, and looked squarely into her face.
"Ros, I'm sorry I never knew. If I had, things would've been different I swear. You will be legitimised and given a place in this family…."
Rose withdrew her hand away with a cry, "I don't want that, I don't need to be a Stark"
Bran interrupted, "You don't need that now Ros but you might in the future"
She moved her gaze from Ned's face to Brans, "What do you mean? The future?"
Bran fidgeted his hand in his lap, "There's a reason I wanted you to come to us, we need to use your…..skills"
Heat rose in Ros' face and she looked angered for a moment.
"This is exactly why I don't want this in my life! I've never had a family and I've managed just fine…."
"Living in a brothel alone spinning illusions of men fucking you isn't what I'd call fine" retorted Ned impatiently.
Infuriated Ros rose to leave, but Bran spoke, "Ros wait, it's not what you think. Let me explain, please"
Something in his voice cajoled her and soothed that anger that had risen so fast a moment before. Cheeks still flushed she fixed a glare on Bran and slowly returned to her seat.
"You have one minute cousin," she spoke the last word with anger, "and if I don't like what I hear I'm leaving and you'll never see me again"
Bran bobbed his head and swallowed, "Just hear me out, that's all I ask"
After a moment Ros defiantly nodded, "As you wish"
Bran shifted in his bed, lifting himself up to sit properly and leaned forward.
"Those dreams you had were prophecies, someone is showing them to us. They're visions of what the world will be if we don't act. Everything we know and everyone we love is in danger, but all of us together we have a chance to change these prophecies. There is someone in Kings Landing and we need to find them, and we need a spy there telling us what's really happening in the capitol."
"Who is in Kings Landing Bran?" interrupted Catelyn.
Bran looked uncomfortable, "I've seen a wolf, Nymeria in Kings Landing. She hasn't been seen since Arya disappeared, I think whoever has Arya is taking her there"
"Cersei," spat Ned with disgust, rising to his feet in renewed anger.
Bran raised his hand, "Father, anger will not save Arya. We don't know everything, I know in all of me that's where Arya will be. Nymeria wouldn't go there unless she was on Aryas trail"
The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the howling wind outside, branches crashing against the window pane. Ros shifted in her seat, "What would you have me do?"
Bran looked to his cousin, "Find a brothel owned by Peter Baelish and spin your illusions there. He will be most susceptible, and he is on the small council. If you can get him under your control somehow he will be a source of information"
"And what about after? If I find Arya, what next?"
"I don't know," admitted Bran, "I'm only shown pieces of the future at a time, sometimes I see pieces far ahead in the future but the parts in between are missing. I just need you to trust me, a plan will unfold"
Ros scoffed a little and looked uncertain, then she steeled herself.
"What about when all this is finished? When whatever we are trying to stop is finished, what then?"
"You will be given a choice, to join your family or go on your way. We will respect what you decide" spoke Ned with finality, "although I would like it if you'd choose to remain with us. We are a pack, and lone wolves don't do too well on their own"
His words washed over Ros, and she felt a wave of melancholy rise up within her. She refused to let any present see what her emotions were doing so she raised her chin and looked around the room.
"I accept what you're asking of me. When do you want me to leave?"
"Once the storm settles you'll leave from White Harbor on our next trading galley" said Bran quietly, "in the meantime stay in Aryas room"
Catelyn sucked her breath in a ragged sob, and Bran looked sympathetically at her. She suffered so much since Arya disappeared, he reached across and grasped her hand. She broke down into sobs that shook her body.
"Mother, Arya is alive. I'm doing everything to bring her back to us"
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The horse plodded forward through the forest, mist swirled around its hooves as it gingerly stepped forward. The sun was barely peeking through the canopy and the chill hung in the air like a thick curtain.
The horse diligently followed its companion and rider, but the gap between them was widening. His rider came close to falling from the saddle several times and suddenly he felt the rider slip from the saddle and tumble to the ground. Patiently the horse stopped and whickered softly, his companion stopped midstep and the rider turned back to see what happened. Sweating profusely the man vaulted from horseback and strode over to pull the girl to her feet.
Her face was a bruised mess, her eye was closed, swollen with pus filled wounds littering her face and body. When the Hound grabbed her he felt the heat emanating through her body, fever. If he didn't get her help today she was certain to die of blood poisoning. He had seen this before after battle wounds, but the girl hadn't been in a battle. She'd been pushed from one of the highest cliffs he had ever seen, and she had survived. It unnerved him how she'd managed to do so, and the whole time he rode with her a sense of foreboding had grown steadily bigger and bigger.
Swearing again he flung the girl over his shoulder and slung her across the back of his horse which was bigger and sturdier. Where the fuck would he get her help from here in the middle of the fucking forest? He looked around in all directions beginning to feel anger building as he kicked himself for taking on this task. He spotted a hill and urged the horses to follow him as he continued on foot
Reaching the top of the hill he looked around in all directions as the wind tugged at his hair and howled in his ears. Nothing, there was nothing but forest for miles. Swearing again he was about to turn back when something caught his eye, he looked up suddenly and squinted. Smoke, a thin tendril of smoke twisted up from the trees and disappeared like a wisp in the wind. His heart lifted, there must be someone there and close too. It was his only chance at keeping the girl alive, because he didn't fancy being sent to the Wall for letting the girl die. So he followed the tendril of smoke to see who he could force to help him.
Arya groaned and turned which immediately caused burning pain to explode in her body. Everything hurt, her face, her body and her head which thrummed with pain and caused dizziness to wash over her when she moved it. There was a softness underneath her though and the sound of a woman's voice, followed by the gruff voice of her captor. The woman was admonishing him and he was grumbling in response.
"How can you let a lass like this in her state ride a bleedin horse?" cried the stout woman in a coarse peasant voice leaning over the Hound as he hungrily devoured a hearty stew.
"Orders," he grumbled, "I have orders. I follow them"
The woman scoffed and bustled away, "You men and your orders," she continued stirring her pot on the stove, "if your master ordered you to jump from a bridge you'd do it! Does it not matter that what you're doing isn't right? Taking a lass like this captive, with her injuries is shameful, just shameful!"
The Hound looked up from his bowl and growled clenching his fingers around his fork preparing to launch an attack against the woman. She turned around and caught his murderous gaze and fixed her own glare on him before plonking down a tankard of ale so hard it slipped against the sides and spilt on the table. The Hound sat back with a disapproving cry and looked at the spilt ale with melancholy.
"Drink what's in the cup lad, there's more where that came from!"
He took a long sip and smacked his lips in pleasure, for the first time in a long time he was warm, fed and holding good ale in his hand. His anger towards his host receded slightly, she continued to gibber away over the stove but he ignored her and after a long period of time nodded off. The warmth of the fire and the strong ale relaxed The Hound, he snored slightly as his head tipped off to the side. The woman ceased gibbering to herself and cautiously looked over her shoulder at her guest. She knew by the drop of his face he was relaxed, cautiously she sidled over to her injured patient and lifted a beaker of herbal liquid to her mouth. Arya spluttered and coughed and the woman shushed her and wiped the hair from her face. The extent of the injuries to her face shocked the woman, and gently she wet a cloth in a dark brown liquid and squeezed out the excess into the bucket. The liquid left brown marks on her hands but she was unfazed as she blotted the healing liquid against the girls face. Arya flinched away as fresh pain seared through her but the woman persisted and forced her to submit. Arya whimpered a little but the woman held her firm behind the head as she washed the wounds deliberately and thoroughly. When she finished the woman laid Aryas head back on the pillow and shushed her quietly so she slipped back into a sleep. As Arya lay back a flash of leather could be seen hidden beneath her shirt, the woman gently grasped the string of leather and lifted it up with her hand all the while keeping her eyes on her patient.
The Stark medallion slipped from under Aryas shirt and the woman dropped it from her hand in shock. It dropped onto Aryas chest and settled between her budding breasts on the outside of her shirt. Mouth open wide the woman leant forward and examined Aryas face closer.
Gasping in shock, she whispered without a hint of the peasant voice she spoke prior "Arya Stark!"
Several days passed, The Hound was regularly on the verge of slitting the woman's throat but something always persuaded him not to. It was strange, something he was not used to that's for sure. Arya woke and began to glare at him with those sullen eyes that bored into his soul. And the woman fussed over her many times a day applying poultices to her wounds and forcing her to drink strong tasting herbal liquids. They were fed, warm and comfortable. Something neither of them had felt on this journey, and considering the howling storm outside neither of them wished to leave the haven of Myranelle. The old wise woman had built herself a comfortable existence in this part of the Riverlands just adjacent to the border with the North. Lonely, but comfortable. Her gardens grew everything she needed from fruit, vegetable and herbs. She kept animals she slaughtered herself to cook and had hanging bunches of sausages and herbs hanging from the rafters of her comfortable cottage. The wounds on Aryas face receded over a couple of weeks of tending and soon the infection in her body calmed as well.
Myranelle fussed over Arya tsking and shaking her head with mutterings about bad men who think taking a girl hostage on orders was acceptable.
"For fuck sake woman will you shut up!" Exclaimed The Hound one day. Myranelle stood up in anger from tending Arya and launched into another angered tirade at the huge man. He gripped a nearby meat skewer and lunged at the woman, but she grasped the hilt of the skewer and pushed the Hound back down.
He slumped back into the chair a look of shock against his face, the skewer flew from her hand and returned to its resting place with her other cooking utensils.
"You'll do well to not attack me in my own home," she warned, "you might be surprised at what I can do"
The Hounds face hung open in shock, "What the fuck did you just do? I've never been overpowered by a fucking woman"
Myranelle chuckled, "Well I'm glad I can be your first, and I won't be your last"
She turned and gave Arya a chilling gaze, "Now you back to bed you're still not out of the woods. Go and rest"
Arya smiled to herself the image of the stout, round woman overpowering the Hound fresh in her mind. She complied with her orders and curled up in bed as the wind howled outside, from her cot she could see the wild wind bending and throwing branches in all directions. It seemed as if this wild storm would never pass.
When the moon was high in the sky a dark figure slipped from the cottage, and cast a nervous glance back to the house. The wind had calmed, and the forest was quiet. When it was certain none had noticed her departure Myranelle followed the moonlit path into the forest. When she was deep enough in she put her hands around her mouth and howled once the howl of a wolf. There was a disturbance in the forest, twigs snapping and crashing before a dire wolf stepped from the darkness and stood before her. Myranelle dropped to her knees and gazed into the wolf's eyes before whispering, "I can't keep this storm raging much longer, it's sapping my strength. How can I get the girl out of here safely?"
Several visions flashed through her mind, before the wolf stepped away back into the night. Wiping tears from her face Myranelle stood and silently returned to the cottage moving surprisingly swift and quiet for a person of her stature, and when she closed the door behind her the wind picked up again and howled all around the small cottage.
The Hound had chopped wood all the next day, the sound of wood splitting becoming almost rhythmic to the women in the house. Arya was practically completely healed, the ugly mass of infection on her face had cleared to a light bruising. She sat curled up in a nest of blankets in front of the fire with a cup of herbal tea in her hands. Myranelle busied herself in the kitchen, humming away to herself contentedly as she cut vegetables and meat for a stew.
"Can I ask where you're from Myranelle?" questioned Arya as she sipped on her tea.
The humming faltered momentarily, Arya looked up and the woman had fixed her shrewd eyes on the girl.
"I was born in the North, my father is a northerner and my mother a river lander. What about you lass? Where are you from?"
Arya creased her brow as she tried to think, "I can't remember"
Myranelle put down her knife and washed her hands, drying them as she sat next to Arya by the fire.
"What do you remember?"
Again this threw Aryas mind into turmoil, a series of fragmented memories spun around her mind making her feel dizzy. Her face went pale and she shook her head.
"I can only remember pieces, before-" she faltered, "what actually happened to me?"
Myranelle looked at Arya sadly, "You have had a very bad fall lass. Very bad indeed"
She lifted her hand to touch Aryas face but she flinched away.
"I mean ye no harm lass, let me touch ye. I might be able to help heal the broken parts of your mind"
Arya hesitated but nodded, before she touched Aryas head Myranelle looked around to be sure The Hound was still chopping wood. Her heart was hammering, she knew he was dangerous but she lifted her hands trembling slightly and laid her hands across Aryas face. Her thumbs were touching between Aryas brows, she closed her eyes and saw that the poor girls mind was healing from deep physical trauma. Myranelle fed the healing process what energy she could contribute before she released Arya and sat back. Her breath was ragged and uneven after working magic, and her face seemed to age slightly.
Aryas mind buzzed, a high pitched ringing noise spun around in her mind several times before dissipating into nothingness. She felt clearer afterward and the heaviness in her head had disappeared.
"Thank you, I feel better"
"Now tell me lass, what is your name?" pressed Myranelle softly.
Arya opened her mouth to answer but her voice was caught, it was on the tip of her tongue but still eluded her. Looking dejected she sat back in a slump.
"I don't remember, I still don't remember" she spoke with a depressed tone.
"Never mind lassie," comforted Myranelle patting her hand, "happen you'll remember later. Just rest and all will be well. Oh my the sun is slipping away! I'm late getting dinner on!" she exclaimed jumping up and bustling back to the kitchen. The humming resumed and Arya settled back into her seat by the fire, she watched the flames dancing in front of her. She smiled and her eyelids dropped contentedly, she sighed and sipped more tea. In front of her eyes the flames stopped dancing and sat perfectly still and upright, she leaned forward unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her or not. As she leaned forward the flames formed into the shape of a howling wolf and then hissed throwing sparks across the floor near her feet.
"Arya!" hissed the flames, she looked around expecting someone in the room to be talking to her.
The flames hissed and spat sparks again, "Arya!"
She froze, that name resounded in her mind. It was familiar and brought scattered memories clattering into her brain. The clattering of memories was noisy in her mind and overwhelmed her senses. She went to clutch at her head and dropped her cup, shattering it on the floor. White porcelain shattered all across the space between Arya and the fire, she groaned in pain.
Myranelle heard the smash and ceased cooking with a cry and was by Aryas side in an instant. After several minutes the painful returning of memories subsided and Arya cried into Myranelles shoulder as confusion got the better of her. Myranelle held her tightly by the fire rocking her back and forward, crooning to her and stroking her head.
"It'll be ok lass, the pains will go away. This will all go away soon"
Arya sobbed again into her shoulder, crying for the person she didn't know she was and the family she didn't know to miss. She knew she had family, she felt them but she couldn't remember their names or faces.
Wiping her eyes and the tears from her face Arya looked at Myranelle with red rimmed eyes.
"Arya," she said with a shaky voice, "my name is Arya"
Myranelle smiled in relief and pulled the girl close to her again murmuring, "Yes lass, yes it is"
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Myranelle sat by the fire listening to the sounds of their breathing, Arya's light snore punctuated by groaning intermittently and the Hounds heavy breath. Rising stiffly she silently and swiftly grabbed several items and put them into a light sack, bread, hard cheese, nuts, dried fruit. Anything that could make the journey back to the North, for good measure an extra blanket as well. It was still summer but the chill in the air heralded a change coming in the seasons. She didn't want the lass going cold at night, sleeping in the forest was hard enough. The Hound stirred, muttering incoherently and saying a name in anger but after several minutes of her heart hammering in the dark Myranelle crept over to Arya. The girl was in a deep sleep and she was loathe to wake her but it was time, the wolf had clearly indicated tonight be the night. Silently putting the satchel next to the girl she crept over to the Hound, his scarred face looked ominous in the moonlight. She felt such pain emanating from him but he would not let her help him, sighing to herself she drew a small pouch of powder from her gown and sprinkled a light dust over his face. She whispered the enchantment and only stepped back satisfied when she saw he had dropped into a deeper sleep.
Arya was shaken awake, all was dark but she knew the form of Myranelle standing in front of her and her grip on her arms. Groggily she began to speak but a frantic hand clamped across her mouth, Myranelle put a finger to her lips indicating silence. With a muffled shuffle Arya was bundled from the warmth of her bed and the cottage into the night. Myranelle pushed a bag into Aryas hands and grasped the wolf pendant around her neck and held it up in the moonlight.
"Your name is Arya Stark lass, this is your family. The wolf will guide you home"
Myranelle pointed across the field and standing in the moonlight was an enormous wolf, Arya felt excited and afraid at the same time.
She looked back to Myranelle and over her shoulder to the cottage.
"He'll hurt you for this, maybe even kill you"
Myranelle bustled Arya forward, "Never mind me lass I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, now run"
Arya stepped forward uncertainly and hesitated for a moment, something smashed in the cottage.
"Go!" urged Myranelle gesturing wildly with her hands, "Get a head start I'll stall that monster of a man"
Heart racing in her chest Arya ran, a loud crash sounded behind her and a cry of an older woman. Looking back Arya saw Myranelle fall and The Hound chasing blade in his hand. Myranelle did not get up, with an anguished sob Arya ran as fast as she could towards the wolf standing calmly in the moonlight. Just as she reached the wolf, something hit her from behind and she fell. Her world went black.
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The stench of Kings Landing blew on the wind before one had even passed through the gate, The Hound recoiled his nose in distaste. He hated it but missed it at the same time, which was complicating for him. The horse lumbered forward into the city, both rider and horse were filthy. So much so that even the worst of the street urchins of the city recoiled at their appearance. The horse was weary, carrying a double load tired the beast but still it kept pushing forward. Across its rump lay a figure, bound, gagged and blindfolded with stains of excrement soiling their tattered clothes. After the horse was stabled The Hound chained the bound figure and removed the ropes tying their hands and feet together. He removed the blindfold, and her hair tumbled from the covering brown and thick. The light from the day causing her to squint painfully, unable to cover her face with her own hands she turned her head involuntarily but was pushed forward by the guards.
"Take her to the dungeons," said the Hound in his rough voice, "and let Queen Cersei know she's here, tell none other"
He watched as the guards pushed her forward, glad to be free of her. Nothing but trouble, but still he felt something……something he couldn't put his finger on. Was it guilt? Or regret? Sadness? He wasn't sure but he shrugged it off and parted ways with her without a backward glance. He stopped after several paces, it was foreboding, and it grew bigger with every step he took away from her.
Arya was pushed forward on unsteady feet, up stairs and down stairs, seeing glimpses of palace here and hearing frightening screams randomly. Every sense was strained after being bound and blindfolded for so long, she couldn't even remember how she got here. Her last memory is the wolf standing in the moonlight, running toward the wolf and then…..nothing.
Abruptly she was forced underground into the darkness of the dungeons, the air was warm but heavy with the stench of shit and death. She tried to backtrack but the soldiers grimly pushed her on. After walking in the dark for several minutes they stopped, unlocked a door and pushed her in. She tried to turn but felt a spear in her back and froze, roughly her arms were un cuffed and she rubbed them sorely.
Turning back she pleaded with them, "Please there's been a mistake! This is a mistake"
The soldiers sniggered, "We hear that all the time lass. Tell it to Queen Cersei"
The door groaned shut and the shadow of the dungeons swept over Arya, closing her in. She fell to her knees and gave an anguished cry as she struggled to remember what had happened to her and why she was here. She sobbed for several minutes before she stopped and breathed. She was leaning forward on the ground with her face on the hard, stone floor. She heard a rustle behind her and startled, turning around searching for the source of the noise but she couldn't see anyone in the dark.
"Hello?" her voice echoed slightly around the cell, she could hear the tremble in it.
"Who's there?" she said with more bravado this time.
"No one," spoke the calm, melodious voice of a man, "A girl has met no one"
Despite herself Arya trembled inside at the voice, as it sounded like the voice of someone who was not afraid to be a prisoner. And to Arya that was dangerous.