AYLWARD

Old Oak was the same as Aylward remembered it. The castle was far larger than Bitterbridge. Attention had been paid to every detail making it almost as beautiful as Highgarden. But still, the sight of the keep, flanked by its namesake oaken forest, was bittersweet.

The last time Aylward had been here, it was winter and a fever had torn through the surrounding villages. Wylla had been among the first to catch it, but no one noticed until it was too late. It started with a red flush, easily mistaken for exposure to the frosty air outside. Then the fever came. By then, half the castle had it.

Aylward had recovered, as had Lady Oakheart and her eldest son, Wylla's father. Arwyn's third son, as well as Wylla, had not been so lucky. The maester had been the first to die, and after he was gone no help was sent to Old Oak for weeks. And it was all because Lorent Caswell had burnt his brother's letter.

The knight was escorted into the great hall of Old Oak, with Amina trailing behind him. Aylward was sure they both looked harried and unkempt from the fortnight they'd spent traveling. He felt out of place amongst the fine furnishing and the beautifully inlaid walls depicting scenes from the Age of Heroes.

Lady Arwyn Oakheart came to meet the haggard duo. She dismissed their escort with a wave of her hand over Aylward's shoulder, then greeted Amina first. "Ah, Lady Corrigan, so you made it out of Bitterbridge in one piece. Where is Lady Stark?"

"She left from Storm's End," Aylward answered.

Arwyn clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "The impertinence of Renly to cart that poor woman across the country to witness his exhausting blood feud." She gave no sign that she regretted speaking ill of the dead. "I left Bitterbridge when word came of his death. We will see what the Tyrells decide, but until then there is no point leading my men on a jaunt around the country." Amina pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide a smirk.

"Now, where are you two off to?" Arwyn asked. "Riverrun?"

"Oxcross," Amina told her. "The King in the North is fighting near there; I hope to find him."

Arwyn nodded. "A raven came from Red Lake with word of fighting at Sarsfield. I believe your king was expected to continue north from there."

Amina nodded, though Aylward could see the exhaustion on her face. Sarsfield was another day's ride north of Oxcross. Beyond there, the mountains would make travel more difficult.

"We'll rest for the night and change horses in the morning before we set off," Aylward told Lady Oakheart.

Before Arwyn could agree, Amina interrupted her. "I won't leave Myst." Aylward glanced over at her. She'd spoken more since they'd walk through the gates of Old Oak than she had in the three days since they'd left the inn. "She was a gift from Eddard Stark. I won't trade her."

Aylward looked back to Arwyn, who nodded. She'd lost family as well; she knew that pain. "Then you'll stay two nights, and I'll see that your horse is treated like royalty." Then she turned to Aylward and continued. "And you will join me in my solar as soon as you're settled."

From the tone of Arwyn's voice, he knew it was not a request. Despite everything, Aylward found himself biting back a laugh. Bitterbridge and Highgarden and King's Landing were all places he had lived. But Old Oak was home, and he'd been away far too long.


From Lady Oakheart's solar, the Sunset Sea could just be seen in the distance. The sun reflected off the water and gave the illusion that the world ended past Old Oak's borders. A part of Aylward wished that were true.

"Wylla used to dream of worlds far across the Sunset Sea," Arwyn said, coming up to join him. "Arthur use to tease her for it. She believed those who never returned found somewhere wonderful. He would tell her they'd drowned."

Aylward smiled to himself. Of all Arwyn's sons, Wylla had been the closest to Arthur. Armen was too surly, Arys was too young, and her father was far too busy being an heir. But Arthur had made Wylla feel like the belonged there, no matter who her mother was or what last name she bore. She was an Oakheart. After Aylward had married Wylla, Arthur had done the same for him. And then, they had both died of the winter fever.

"I wish they were still here," Aylward said quietly.

Arwyn laid a hand on the knight's shoulder and gave him a sad smile. "As do I. But at least you've come home."

He shook his head. "I should not have stayed away so long. I should not have left at all." When the sickness had passed, Aylward hardly stayed long enough for the bodies to be buried. He could not bear to stay in the castle haunted by so many memories. He'd thrown himself into work and into the role of a stoic knight to avoid his grief.

"My dear boy, you did what you had to. If I could have sailed into the Sunset Sea to find those lands Wylla dreamed of, I would have." Arwyn motioned toward a chair and poured them each a glass of Arbor gold. "She would have been proud of you. You made a name for yourself without the help of your father, without even my own assistance."

"For whatever that's worth," Aylward muttered. He'd spent years serving at Renly's side, and now Renly was dead. He'd failed at his only responsibility.

Lady Oakheart gave him a look that he'd seen her give to her sons countless times. "You could have gone to Stannis. Despite what we all implied when we took up arms for his brother, he does have the best claim." Aylward took a sip of wine so he did not need to voice his own opinion of Stannis Baratheon. "You could have followed the Tyrells to King's Landing."

Aylward's face must have betrayed his surprise. Arwyn clarified, "Oh, nothing has been decided for certain. Though there's been plenty of talk that Margaery will marry the Lannister boy." She clicked her tongue twice. "That poor girl. She's far too soft for the capitol. It is a shame there's so little of her grandmother in her."

Maybe he had made a mistake, leaving so quickly and abandoning Margaery to the Lannisters. He'd come to know the family and their city in his years there, and to distrust them both. King's Landing may be headed by a Baratheon in name, but it was the Lannisters who held the reins.

"Had it not been for Lady Stark, I would have remained with the Tyrells. But she begged me to help Amina, and I could not refuse her."

"Will you rejoin the Tyrells after?" Arwyn asked. Aylward had the feeling she wished him to say no, though he could not say why. She looked at him for a moment. "It seems Lady Corrigan is in a unique position of power, all things considered. Perhaps she could use friends."

"Surely there's a Northerner more suited," Aylward argued. Though he doubted it, even as the words left his mouth. Beyond the Starks, who else knew her secret? Very few, he had to assume. Perhaps Arywn was righter than she realized.

Lady Oakheart gave a small shrug as she lifted her wine to her lips. "The choice is yours of course, but even I can see you have no desire to return to the lion's den." She replaced the glass on the table. "Now, do tell me what you've gotten up to these past years. I've missed so much."


Aylward and Amina were a day's ride from Lannisport. The journey would have been shorter had they kept to the road. But after crossing into the Westerlands, they had decided it would be safer to keep to the woods. Aylward waited in their makeshift camp alone. Amina had gone further into the trees to relieve herself before they left.

The sound of rustling leaves and breaking twigs did not startle him at first. It was the silence that followed which made him look up. He found a sword pressed against his throat. "Stay still and we might just leave you alive," the man said.

There were five of them. Their uniforms marked them as soldiers. One or two could have even been landless knights. From the state of their clothing, they'd abandoned their fight and their honor for gold. With the turn the war had taken, Aylward almost couldn't blame them.

Two of the men kept an eye on him, while the others searched through their things. "Where's the other one?" One of the men asked. He was tall, but not broad. In a fight, Aylward would win. But that would require fighting off the two men holding him at sword point.

"Hobb asked you a question," one of his captors said, jabbing his sword into Aylward's armor to make his point.

"Gone," Aylward said calmly. It was true, and if Amina returned to this, he hoped she would slip away before the men found her too. They were so close to her army now, even without him she would surely make it to safety.

The man who'd threatened him once already, looked prepared to do it again, but the man called Hobb held up a hand. "Forget it. Move quickly, keep an eye open."

The men continued to plunder their belongings. As Amina's things went into their bags, Aylward noticed her knife belt was not among them. Good, she'd have protection. She might need it.

The men were almost done, and then they would go. Surely, they knew better than to leave a knight alive. He could hunt them down or warn those in Lannisport of brigands in the woods. He found that even knowing Amina's secret, he was glad she would live. To survive so much only to die at the hands of common criminals seemed a cruel fate.

Hobb stood, slinging his pack full of stolen goods over his shoulder. The other two looters talked amongst themselves as they looked over the horses. Myst would fetch a good price. "Oh." Hobb said. He fell to his knees. The other men stopped talking and looked. He hit the ground, face first. Protruding out of his back was a knife.

Aylward's guards turned away, searching the woods for the unseen assailant. Aylward took the opportunity to disarm one and impale the other. In the meantime, Amina had flown out of the woods, her own sword drawn. The man she fought stumbled against her onslaught. Despite his soldier's garb, he was clearly unskilled. He'd probably been a peasant, his only training a few days with the Lannister army before they'd flown into battle. Amina had spent years training with Winterfell's master-at-arms. She was no knight, but she had more skill than a common soldier.

The remaining two men descended on Aylward, sensing him to be the bigger threat of the two. One of them was a knight; it was obvious from the way he carried himself that'd he trained longer than the others. Aylward dispatched him first.

Before he could turn on the other, the man stopped. Blood bubbled from his mouth. As he fell forward, Amina pulled the knife from his neck. Her hair had fallen from its braid, and her dress was torn. But save for a few scratches on her hands—from a fall no doubt—and a cut across her upper arm, she seemed to be unharmed.

"You saved my life," Aylward said a bit dumbly. She looked at him, breathing heavily. "You should have gone, saved yourself." Amina narrowed her eyes in a way that told him the thought had never crossed her mind. The cross of her arms said she was offended that he'd even considered it had. "Thank you."

Amina shrugged once. "I would've done it for anyone."

Aylward believed that. "I was wrong about you," he said finally. "You are more than your blood."

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded once. "Oxcross is but a few days ride, I can make it on my own. Robb's outriders will find me." Amina began moving to gather her things from the would-be robbers. "You are free to go, Ser Caswell. I cannot ask you to stay in my service."

"You do not have to ask," he said quietly. Amina stopped, but did not turn back toward him. "Since that day, I have looked for the madness they say Targaryen's possess. I have looked for some confirmation of what I wanted to believe. But I have not seen it." She turned then, watching him with a curious gaze. "Instead I've seen loyalty, and bravery, and a fierce love for family. In your heart, you are a wolf. But your blood makes you the rightful Queen."

Aylward knelt before her and placed his sword at her feet. She looked down at it as if in a daze. "I pledge my sword to you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for you. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

The Princess continued staring. Aylward thought she might refuse him. And where will I go if she does? His king was dead, his friends had scattered, and his brother…well there was no choice. She must take him.

Finally Amina nodded. "Then I vow you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor." Her words were stilted but she said them with familiarity. Between Eddard Stark and the King in the North she'd surely heard them plenty. "I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise."