Arya
The winter storm had left no part of Braavos untouched. The canals which had given Braavos a unique and wonderful identity had turned against the city, providing a route for the invading storm right to the city's heart. Even through the language barrier, Arya heard the news. Most storms spent their power against isles that formed a shield around Braavos on the seaward side. But this storm had just swept over them. Its fury was channelled by the islands rather than blocked by them. Arya heard a Braavosi saying that without the isles, the storm might have washed Braavos away entirely. The evidence for that was clear to her own eyes as well. Arya and Shireen wandered the devastated city. A part of her still feared to be found by their former captors. But there were just so many lost and homeless people now that they could blend in anywhere.
They spent days wandering the streets far and wide. They struggled each night to find shelter, just as so many others now did. They walked in the company of thousands of Braavosi, a strange and silent camaraderie of the lost. It was as if they could not believe that the devastated place they wandered through was the greatest city in the world.
Arya saw that the Titan of Braavos still stood but had been scorched black with hundreds of lightning strikes. The Iron Bank had been flooded, its vaults and floors filled with seawater, the columned and vaulted building had been hammered by debris so hard it looked like it had withstood a siege, its roof had been peeled away to expose the inners of the building to snow and rain and wet. The Sealord's palace hadn't been so lucky. It had been torn from the foundations and tossed into the lagoon, though the Sealord himself has survived. A similar fate had befallen half the temples on the Isle of Gods had received as well. Drowned Town had disappeared. The already flooded buildings had collapsed completely beneath the storm's fury and had fallen beneath the waves for good. Even the House of Black and White hadn't been spared. The small rocky island stood barren without the temple that had once stood upon it. At Arya's insistence, they travelled to that small rocky island, for she had hoped once again to find shelter there.
The island had been stripped clean down to the foundations, the tunnels the destruction revealed were utterly flooded. Arya looked around at the destruction wreaked upon the other temples, broken walls, torn away roofs, and flooded rooms. But it paled in comparison to what the House of Black and White had suffered. Arya bit her lip and looked down and the scraped bare stone. She shivered at the memory of the storm, its hate, its fury, and the burning cold of deepest malice. Arya had no proof and no way to prove it, but somehow she knew the storm had been sent for this reason, that it had been hunting.
"Arya," Shireen approached her. "We should go. This island feels wrong somehow."
Arya nodded. "Okay," she said.
The two girls left the storm-swept island and back to the devastated city.
More days passed by, and they watched the damage to Braavos continue, even as the winds died down and the storm moved on. Then, over the next couple of weeks, a terrible and icy breath descended upon Braavos and the water soaked into every crack and crevice froze and expanded. Cracks formed and grew, walls broke, roofs broke and leaked like sieves, streets cracked and broke, buildings on the verge of collapse were pushed over the edge, small ships and boats in the canals had their sides caved in by the ice, and snow continued to fall furiously for several days.
But they found a permanent shelter at least. It had been a noble's manse, but the storm had taken the noble and his family away when it took the top two floors as well. Rubble and bodies filled the yard and nearby canal. Now the poor and homeless had taken it over to have at least some shelter from the cold and wet weather that still blew from the north. No one tried to force them out. There were more important things for the guards to be doing. Riots and looting had filled much of Braavos as the desperate demanded food and shelter, and firewood. A few peaceful squatters weren't even half as important as stopping a riot from becoming a rebellion.
The larger and fancier rooms had been taken already and used for wild parties as the destitute and homeless of Braavos delighted in their new home. The girls stayed away from that and instead sheltered in the servant's quarters. The rooms there were smaller but also warmer and safer.
They ate ham and sausages stolen from the manse's larder and cooked it over a crackling fire held in a tiny brazier.
"I could feel it," Arya said. Juice and grease dribbled down her cheek, and she wiped it away.
"Feel what?" Shireen asked, laying her empty plate aside.
"The storm," Arya half-whispered, hardly believing what she was saying. "I could feel it somehow, sense it. It was hateful and unnatural."
Shireen's brow creased, confusion, worry, and a hint of fear warring in her expression.
"It didn't just happen upon Braavos, it… it came here for a reason," she remembered the ruined isle and flooded catacombs where the House of Black and White once stood. "I think it was hunting."
"How can you know this?"
"I just," Arya bit her lip. "I just do somehow." The two girls stared at each other for a few seconds. "Sometimes I have dreams that I'm a wolf," Arya said. "I hunt, I kill, and I eat alongside my packmates."
Shireen went quiet as Arya continued.
"It… it was a little like that with the storm, a dream, but waking."
"You're a skinchanger," Shireen said.
"Maybe," Arya said.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, eating silently and watching the crackling flames.
"What do you know about skinchangers?" Arya asked.
Shireen shifted slightly. "Just stories," she said. "Maester Cressen had a book of tales about the wildlings. It said skinchangers could take over the minds of animals, even transform into animals, and that the greatest could do the same for other things," she shrugged. "It also said they ate people to gain their powers."
"I haven't eaten people!" Arya quickly protested.
Shireen fixed her with her steady blue eyes. "That's just what a cannibal would say," she said seriously.
Arya met Shireen's eyes, and the pair held their staring contest for almost a minute before Shireen broke. She laughed and blinked furiously, and then Arya did the same. They laughed and giggled, easy things to do when they had full bellies and a warm room, and their freedom. Before long, Arya caught Shireen's eyes drooping, and before she knew it, they were both asleep, and she was running.
On four furry paws, she ran across muddy snow. It was deep but slushy. The river had overflown its banks and had flooded the meadow. Her great pack followed her, and she smelt trees and earth, horse and deer and men, all of them sharp with fear. But the scent of cold and death almost drowned them out. Not the sickly sweet scent of decay and rotting flesh. The winds from the north blew the smell of death itself.
She knew her brothers were in the north, one so very far away, almost too far to sense anymore. The silent brother smelled of men and fires and warmth. Her wild brother was somewhere far as well and smelt of salt and stone. She turned away from the wind, entranced instead by the scent of deer, and ran into the forest to hunt.
Arya woke up after Shireen and saw her preparing breakfast, bread and butter and beans baked over their fire. They ate and then set out. Arya carried a bag of stolen valuables from the manse, little pieces of bronze and copper and glass. Everything made of gold or silver was long gone.
The streets of Braavos were starting to look a little more normal. After days inside the manse, it was a sudden change. It was still cold, but the snow and ice remained only in the shadows of buildings and alleys where the light and heat of the sun rarely reached.
They walked to the Ragman's Harbour, where merchants were more likely to speak the Common Tongue and less likely to ask where they'd gotten their stolen goods.
They didn't get far before Shireen said. "I recognize that ship," and pointed at the sleek galley resting in the harbour. "It's Wraith, the same one we saw before."
"Saw where?"
"When we tried to escape, when you fell in the harbour, the coast of the Vale," Shireen said quickly.
"Lord Dale will take us in, take us to King's Landing," Shireen said with obvious excitement.
"Why?" Arya asked.
Shireen turned, clearly confused. "But… we can go home."
"King's Landing isn't my home," Arya said quickly.
"I…"
"We can stay here," Arya cut Shireen off. "Braavos can be our home. We can live in the manse."
"But, the Sealord's men will make us leave sooner or later."
"Then we can live in the alleys and the canals. The streets can be our home," she brandished her fist, holding the bag of valuables. "We can steal from the manse and get the money that way!"
"And then what?" Shireen asked. "We'll run out, or someone will steal it from us, and then what?
"You don't understand!" Arya shouted. "You're a princess. The world isn't fair. You'll never understand."
"I do understand!" Shireen shouted back. "I know the world isn't fair. Good people die, kindly men die, and others take what was theirs. The world isn't fair, and I'm reminded every day that it isn't. I'm reminded every time I look in a mirror! Every time someone looks away from my face, and every time someone calls me stoneface! I'll never be pretty like you!"
Arya said nothing, shocked, startled, and ashamed.
"But it's my face," Shireen continued. "I didn't choose it, but it's mine, and I won't give it away. My name is mine too," she straightened. "I am Shireen Baratheon, Shireen Stoneface, daughter of Stannis and Selyse. If you want to stay here and forget your life, then go ahead! But I can never forget, and I don't want to. So I'm going back because it's what I need to do. Even if it scares me," Shireen stopped shouting, as if she'd frightened herself with the eruption of Baratheon fury. She took a breath and continued. "Everyone pities me, and everyone wants to protect me, to keep me in the castle, everyone but you. You don't pity me. You're just, you're just you, and I can be me."
Arya bowed her head. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I've lost everyone I ever loved," the words spilled out. "There's no one I can trust."
Shireen took Arya's hand, Arya responded, and the two entered a powerful embrace.
"You can trust me," Shireen said as she squeezed Arya's hand. "I won't make you come," she said. "You can stay if you want. I won't tell Lord Dale about you, but I'm asking you to come to Arya. You're my friend."
They stood there, holding each other and crying silently for many long and quiet minutes before Arya broke the silence. "Okay."
They waited until they saw Lord Dale returning to Wraith accompanied by a pair of Braavosi with long beards and tall hats.
The girls left their hiding place and walked through the busy docks of Ragman's Harbour.
Soldiers were guarding the gangway, their poleaxes were sharp and the shafts polished by countless hours of use.
"What do they want?" One said to the other. "We've no use for beggars here," he said when Arya and Shireen got closer.
Shireen stood as tall as she could. "I must speak to Lord Dale Seaworth," she said.
That got the guard's attention. They glanced at each other and whispered quietly to each other. "Stay here," one said while the other left to walk up the plank to the ship.
The other guard returned quickly. Another man was with him, he was dressed like a lord, all in black with a grey ship on his doublet, but his face was plain and square, like a smallfolk's. He had brown eyes and thin brown hair that was easily caught by the breeze.
Lord Dale Seaworth's eyes went wide when he reached the bottom, and he fell to one knee immediately. "My princess." The other sailors and soldiers quickly followed suit. "It… it's good to see you again," he stood straight. "My princess Wraith is at your command."
Shireen caught Arya's eyes. The princess didn't say anything, but Arya knew the look carried a silent question. Are you sure?
I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, she thought. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Arya nodded.
Shireen smiled briefly, awkwardly. Her stone cheek didn't move, but it made Arya feel better. It was awkward and odd, but it was Shireen's smile, and no one else could have it. "Take us back to King's Landing," Princess Shireen Baratheon commanded.
Reek
They came in the darkness of early morning, the warriors of House Karstark, or perhaps they were just the survivors. Arnolf Karstark, his sons, and Lord Harrion's sister Alys rode into the camp during the last light of day, at the head of thousands of smallfolk. Reek watched them arrive from his place in Ramsay's shadow. They came on sleds and sleighs, gliding over the snow rather than trying to force a way through it.
The Karstarks looked road-weary. The men and animals alike were stained with mud and sweat. The smallfolk looked worse. Black fingers, noses, and ears revealed the toll frostbite had taken on them.
"Alys!" Lord Harrion Karstark pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed his sister just as she dismounted in a great bear hug. He pulled her off her feet and swung her around in the twilight. Snow fell on shoulders and heads, and Reek huddled into his cloak, daring not to leave the shadow of Ramsay as he followed his lord through the crowd.
"Damn smallfolk," Ramsay muttered. "More mouths to fucking feed." Reek nodded and pulled himself deeper into his cloak. Anything more Ramsay would have said was silenced when Lord Roose pressed through the crowd.
"Lord Alys, Lord Arnolf," he said to the Karstarks in his soft and quiet voice. "I'm sure you're hungry, and something will be arranged, but for now, please, let us retire before the night makes the cold more unbearable."
"Aye, Lord Roose," Lady Alys said, still clutched in her brother's arms.
Harrion put his sister down, and the Karstarks followed Lord Roose into his large tent. The smallfolk were left to disperse around the camp. As Reek slipped inside, he saw Bolton men-at-arms taking the crowd in hand to keep order.
The lords crowded into the big tent, a smoky fire burned at the centre and hastily arranged tables, chairs, and benches gave room for everyone to sit and eat their fill. Thick meaty stew and twice-baked bread was served in deep bowls. It was so rich it made Reek's stomach turn, though Reek hardly had an appetite anyway.
Arnolf Karstark dug greedily into the stew set before him, sucking spoonfuls between his yellow teeth. "You'd think with this weather, we'd have half-starved on the march, but no," he soaked a big piece of bread into the stew to soften it. "We ate like kings. It's like anything with a beating heart is running south," he said dismissively around a mouthful of bread. "Whole herds of deer ran south straight through our camp. They had no fear of men in them," he shrugged his crooked shoulders. "Easy to kill."
"And why would they fear us?" Roose Bolton asked quietly. "Men can only kill them, but the Others will do far worse. Even beasts know that. In these days, men are the lesser of two evils."
"Aye," Arnolf said. "They know just as well as us. The birds as well, I haven't seen nary a feather of hawk or grouse or anything for weeks."
"Enough about animals. What of the smallfolk?" Roose Ryswell asked.
"Whole villages have been wiped out," Alys spoke up from her place beside Lord Harrion. "The lucky ones fled before the snows came to bury everything a hundred feet deep, the unlucky, well… I guess they're marching south in a different host now."
"Forests too, buried in snow, or else it grew so cold the sap froze, and the trees exploded," Arnolf continued.
"Then the raven came from the Last Hearth, and not long after our bannermen spotted the first wights, and then the storm came," Alys Karstark said. "A blizzard, like one out of the stories. Snow so thick you couldn't see across the castle yard, and so cold the sea froze solid a mile out from the shore, winds so strong they could tear buildings apart."
"We were snowed in for almost a week before the storm passed on, going out to sea," Arnolf's son Cregan spoke up for the first time since his arrival. "Then we travelled by sleigh."
"Did you see any Others?" Ramsay asked quickly and loudly before his father had a chance to speak. Reek repressed an instinctive flinch at his master's volume. "Kill any of the blasted things?"
"Not a sight or sign," Arnolf answered. "Some wights, though," he said less brazenly. "Damned things like to hide under the snow and ambush the men."
"And no word from the Last Hearth?" Roose asked.
"Nothing then," Alys said. "But," she looked at Arnolf.
"On the road, we found a girl and her babe. She claimed to have survived the siege," the old man said.
"Can we see her?" Roose asked quietly.
"Aye," Arnolf replied. "I thought you would, so I made her ready," he turned to his son. "Cregan, go fetch the girl."
Arthor Karstark brought the girl in. She was young and pretty enough, and Reek felt his heart tremble at the way Ramsay looked at her, his tongue darting and licking his lips. The girl was gaunt and pale and had dark hair. She wore furs, a wool dress, and had a huge black cloak draped over and around her shoulders. She glanced around nervously at the lords staring at her and stopped when she looked at Ramsay and shivered noticeably.
"Girl," Roose Bolton spoke even more softly and quietly than he usually did as if he was talking to a frightened animal. "What is your name?"
The girl started to speak. "It's uh, I mean m'lord."
"It's alright," Alys Karstark said. "You're safe here. Just answer the questions as best you can."
The girl nodded jerkily and twisted her fingers together. "Gilly m'lord, like the flower."
"Did that cloak belong to a man of the Night's Watch?"
The girl, Gilly, sniffed. "Yes, m'lord, it was Sam's."
Roose Bolton eyed her silently for a few moments. Ramsay was quivering beside Reek. Harrion Karstark took advantage of the silence to speak.
"Where are you from?"
"C.. Craster was my father. He was a friend of the Night's Watch," her eyes darted nervously. "A-and the North," she added hastily.
"I asked where," Harrion repeated, but not unkindly.
"North of the Wall," Gully said, looking down at her feet almost shamefully.
That caused a stir among the Northmen, a few hisses of wildling, and muttered curses, but there was no great outroar of anger.
"How did a wildling get south of the Wall?" Ramsay spat, leaning over the table.
"It was Sam," Gilly said quickly. "He rescued us and took us south."
"Us?"
"My babe and I."
"Tell us of the siege of Last Hearth," Roose commanded.
"Let's hear it!" Ramsay shouted.
"Lord Umber took us," she said. "He thought Sam was a deserter. He was going to kill him."
"Which Umber?" Lord Harrion asked. "Crowfood or Whoresbane?"
"He… he had one eye."
"Crowfood then. Continue, girl."
"Lord Crowfood, he didn't believe us, he was going to cut off Sam's head, but then the other lord stopped him, Lord Hother he was. He talked about the ravens." Gilly paused, expecting questions from the audience of lords, but they were listening in rapt attention now.
"He took us to the castle," Gilly's voice was hollow. "We were there for two days before the snows came, and then the cold. The, uh, the water started to freeze and the ale, we couldn't get warm, fires did…" she sniffed and rubbed tears out of her eyes. "People started to die in the night before the white walkers even came. When they did," Gilly wiped her eyes and nose again. "The snow let them walk over the walls, them and their wights and their spiders.
"Did they have a leader?" Roose Bolton asked.
Gilly nodded. "A queen, she didn't fight though, just watched," she said. "All the rest of them look almost the same, like a bunch of twins. There's one though, he has a scar," Gilly ran her finger from below her right eye to her chin. "It was the Scarred One who led them in battle. They killed everyone inside," her voice was hollow. "He killed Sam, came for him, hunted him."
"Why, what was so special about one black brother?"
"A fat one if that cloak I'd any clue," Ramsay laughed.
"He killed one north of the Wall," Gilly said quietly. "With a dagger of dragonglass."
"Vengeance then," Roose Bolton whispered. "Interesting."
"They, the other white walkers, they laugh as they kill," Gilly's voice was cold and hollow. "It's horrible, like breaking ice and screeching stones. The Scarred One doesn't laugh, and it's even worse. He just… killed and killed. He cut Sam apart," she said through tears.
Reek squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable at the mere sight of her tears. Feelings old and new twisted inside. Ramsay had no sympathy.
"And how did a little thing like you live?" He demanded. "Did you fight them off," he laughed. "Cut them up with a little dragonglass pigsticker?"
"Enough Ramsay," Roose silenced his son with a quiet word and a raised hand. "But answer my bastard's question."
Ramsay's fingers dug into Reek's arm beneath the table. Reek felt warm blood begin to flow as Ramsay's nails dug deep.
"They," Gilly sniffed and rubbed her runny nose on the black cloak. "They let me go. The Scarred One wanted to kill me, but the lady stopped him. She let me go."
"Why?" Arnolf Karstark asked, more to himself than to Gilly, but she answered anyway.
"My father… he... he gave them, the white walkers, gave them his sons. A gift to the gods, he used to say."
"Seven Hells," Harrion cursed. "Fucking wildlings."
"Barbarians," another lord cursed.
"So all we need to do is throw some screaming whelps at the Others, and they'll go away," Ramsay said with a mirthful laugh.
"Silence, bastard," Harrion growled at Ramsay.
Ramsay bristled, but his father spoke before he had a chance to say anything.
"If all they wanted were babies, then they wouldn't have slaughtered everyone in Last Hearth," Roose Bolton said. "But we know now that they don't treat all humans the same, vengeance for some, and," he paused as if thinking. "Gratitude perhaps for others? No, not gratitude, nothing so understanding, but close mayhaps. You may go, Gilly." To one of his men, Roose said. "See that she has something to eat. Keep her safe in case I have need of her again."
"Yes, m'lord," the guard took Gilly by the arm and escorted her out.
Roose took advantage of the silence to sip some stew. "There is one other item of business, my lords," Roose said afterward. "A rider came with a message. Robb Stark offers a parlay," Roose Bolton said quietly. "He wants us to join forces against the Others," the Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North placed the letter on the table. "Does anyone object?"
Harrion Karstark turned his head and spat into the fire but said nothing.
Roose waited a few more seconds before quietly speaking. "Good," he said. "Then we will accept the offer. Good night my lords."
The lords of the North rose from their spots, a few pausing only to finish their food. Ramsay seized Reek by the shoulder and pulled him away from the bowl of stew he'd hardly touched. "Let's see if there's any fun to be had tonight!" Ramsay hissed into Reek's ear.
They left the tent and were confronted by a cacophony. The sky was alive with moving and whooping shapes, thousands upon tens of thousands of birds of every sort. The sky was black with them, grouse and geese, raven and crows, eagles and hawks, flying heedlessly southwards. Arnolf Karstark's words took on a whole new meaning. Everything with a beating heart is fleeing south.
Mathis
The haze of smoke from campfires tickled Mathis' nose as he made his morning rounds through the Targaryen camp. Not the Targaryen half of the camp anymore. Whatever camaraderie that had been growing between the Targaryen and Baratheon camps had been shattered when the news of Princess Shireen's kidnapping broke, the Baratheon loyalists were enraged, and not without cause Mathis had to admit.
The Baratheons now made their camp nearly a mile away from the Targaryen camp, surrounded by earthworks and sentries. Meanwhile, the Targaryens grumbled at such obvious distrust.
"It's for the best," Mathis said to Princess Arianne one evening.
"Oh?' The Princess of Dorne asked. "Enraging our most important ally is a good thing?"
"I meant splitting the camps. How many fights and killings were there before?"
"Dozens," Arianne answered. "I see what you mean now. It would be open war in the tents."
"Aye," Mathis said. "A vicious little war that would leave everyone spent and bloody."
They walked a little more, making their way around the perimeter of the camp. A chill wind descended upon them, but the snow of previous days was gone.
"Do you think it's true," Arianne asked suddenly. "What Lord Jon said about Varys."
"About the kidnapping?"
"About Varys being the only one to know."
Mathis shrugged. "I suppose we'll never know for sure. I wouldn't put it past Varys, but he was always full of trickery."
"The rot in Aerys' reign began with Varys," Arianne said, quoting the common belief.
"Aye," Mathis agreed. "You're too young to know, but there was a time Aerys was respected. A time when he was the hope of the realm."
"Some people doubtlessly said the same for Robert Baratheon. Unfortunately, the more things change, the more they stay the same."
"At least there will be no Spider to bring the rot to King Aegon's reign," Mathis said. "We can thank Lord Jon for that much, at least."
Princess Arianne had nothing to say about that.
The next day was the day they were to approach Highgarden. The two armies left their camps by mid-morning. The agreed plan was to rest at Highgarden and gather supplies and reinforcements, so there was no need to wake early or rush. The lands around Highgarden were swelled with acre upon endless acre of farmland. Smallfolk looked up from their work to watch the passing army, no doubt whispering rumours of dragon and stag banners standing as one. If only they knew how bare the threads of this truce are, Mathis thought as he rode past. His leg was sending slight aches and pains through his nerves. But he put his pain aside and forced himself to ride on. He put spurs to his horse to reach the head of the column where the two kings were arguing.
"Please, Your Grace, won't you just reconsider?" King Aegon asked.
"I will not go in that castle," Stannis said through the grinding of his teeth.
"I swear no harm will come to you and yours," King Aegon protested. "I swear it."
"Words are wind," Stannis replied.
King Aegon sighed. "As you wish, Your Grace," he pulled his reins and moved aside.
Mathis let his horse slow as the two kings parted ways. King Aegon led his lords and Knights into Highgarden while Stannis made camp his camp half a league from the castle. Lord Jon remained behind to oversee the Targaryen camp.
The dour highborn Aegon led felt more like a funeral column than a triumphant march, but Highgarden was as beautiful as always. The oncoming winter and sudden burst of cold weather had left a fine layer of frost over the castle. The famous rose gardens had no flowers anymore, but their vines and thorns seemed to be made as if from stained glass or coloured crystal, or perhaps of spun sugar if one were in a hungry mood.
The ladies of House Tyrell greeted them, old Lady Olenna, widowed Lady Alerie, and the new Lady of Highgarden, Lady Leonette.
More lords and ladies surrounded them, bannermen of Highgarden and the Reach who had answered the latest call to arms.
Among them, much to his surprise, was Mathis' wife, Bethany. Who stood silently among the crowd.
"Welcome, Your Grace, to Highgarden," Lady Leonette announced. "We are overjoyed by your return."
Not a victorious return, Mathis noted. His eyes and thoughts wandered as the rest of the pleasantries were exchanged. They wandered so far he was caught off guard when the other nobles began to decamp their positions in the courtyard for the rooms they'd been provided. He followed Gunthor, pretending that he'd been paying attention. Father and son walked together to Bethany.
"Gunthor!" Bethany quickly embraced her son and embarrassed him with a shower of affection.
Mathis chuckled as his son struggled out of Bethany's grasp.
"Mother," he protested.
Bethany smiled. "Yes, that's quite enough. Why don't you go see to your father's horses."
"Like a good squire," Mathis added jovially.
Gunthor gave them both a quizzical and suspicious look but did as he was asked.
"Shall we retire, my lord?" Bethany offered Mathis her hand.
Mathis took her hand. "Of course, my lady."
Hand in hand, they walked through the halls of Highgarden, going from the courtyard into the west wing of the castle where the guest quarters were, through a garden of rose vines twisting through delicate wooden trellises, surrounded by cobblestone paths. They left the garden, and Mathis followed his wife through the corridors to their shared chambers.
Once in the privacy of their borrowed chambers, Mathis quickly embraced his wife, and she embraced him. In her arms, Mathis let his mental armour go, tension long-buried was released, and he breathed easily at last as he let the memories of the storm flashed over him, the lightning that fell and how close he'd come to losing another child. Time had dulled the memories only slightly. After a minute, he slipped from Bethany's arms and fell heavily into a chair.
"Thank you," he said.
"Is it true?" She asked. "What they're saying about Oldtown and the storm?"
Mathis exhaled heavily. "Yes," he said. "All true."
"I prayed the tales weren't true," she said and shook her head in disbelief. "It's still almost impossible to believe."
"Not as impossible as living through it. Oldtown was a vision from the seven hells."
"What will you do now?" Bethany asked.
Mathis sighed. "The alliance between King Aegon and Stannis hangs by a thread."
"What happened?"
"Varys," Mathis spat. "Who else? He put his webs around King Aerys and then Robert Baratheon and tried to do the same to King Aegon, and in so doing put everything at risk."
Bethany frowned slightly. "You must speak to the king," she said after a moment of silence.
Mathis shook his head. "What can I say? I have already done my best to reassure him of my loyalty. "I swore to follow Aegon," Mathis said quietly. "To follow him as I followed his father, he is our hope of the realm born anew."
"Not about Varys or your loyalty," Bethany said quietly. "King Aegon will be a father soon, and you a grandfather."
"What?" Mathis asked. The shock caused him to jump slightly in his seat, then he groaned and closed his eyes as he remembered King Aegon's last visit to Highgarden. "Serra," his eldest daughter. He put his head in his hands.
"Who else?"
"But, moon tea?"
"I dare not do it," Bethany said. "She's taken it before, and too much can ruin a womb. You know that as well as I do," she rubbed her forehead. "There's also the father to consider."
Mathis' eyes widened as he remembered the feast at Highgarden and put the dots together. "No? Is it… is it truly the king?"
Bethany nodded. "So she claims, King Aegon…" she trailed off and shrugged a moment later. "What's done is done. I dare not risk her life by giving her moon tea again."
"Of course," Mathis said quietly, his mind still racing to understand what his wife was saying.
Bethany shifted from her standing place to sit on Mathis' lap. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, their hands and fingers entwined and feet rubbing together. Content to simply feel the warmth of each other, their gentle heartbeats, rough hands and soft skin. For a moment, at least they were one flesh, one heart, and one soul. Just as they'd sworn the day, they'd wed.
Bethany broke the spell. "You'll need to tell the king," she said.
"I know," Mathis replied. "I know."
Bethany and Mathis didn't attend the feast. They spent the night in each other's arms.
When morning came, Stannis still refused to enter Highgarden, much to the grumbling of Jon Connington and other lords. So the council came to him. The kings and their lords gathered on a hill half a mile from Highgarden. It was warmer that day than it had been before, a rare southern breeze blew, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.
"Your Grace," Mathis bowed his head as he approached King Aegon before the council was to begin.
"Lord Mathis," the silver king smiled.
"I have important news, Your Grace," Mathis said quickly, struggling to keep anxiety from his tone.
"Ah," King Aegon said. "Can it wait until after the council meeting, my lord? Lord Garlan's maester has news as well, and I fear I've kept him waiting too long already."
"Oh? I'm afraid not, Your Grace," Mathis said seriously but curtly.
King Aegon, for his part, seemed to take no offence. "Thank you, my lord," King Aegon flashed Mathis another smile and then made his way down the hill and away from the table. The kingsguard, Ser Rolly Duckfield, followed them.
"What troubles you, my lord?" King Aegon asked once they were far enough from the other lords.
Mathis squeezed his fists. "My daughter, Your Grace."
King Aegon flushed somewhat boyishly. "I, uh, yes, Lady Serra. Is she well?"
"She's with child," Mathis forced himself to say.
King Aegon went deathly quiet and glanced down at Mathis' squeezing hands. He looked askance at Ser Rolly, who only smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Such things happen when fucking happens. Halfmaester and Lemore must've taught you that," the kingsguard said.
King Aegon looked back to Mathis. "I… I'm sorry, my lord. I swear to you, by the Old Gods and the New, I will make this right. I swear it," he repeated for emphasis.
Mathis nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Your Grace."
King Aegon nodded, momentarily at a loss for words. "Shall we return, my lord?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Mathis made a half-turn and waited for King Aegon to lead him back to the council table.
Jon Connington gave Mathis a suspicious glare when he returned with King Aegon, but Mathis paid him no mind as he found his own seat between Lord Edmure Tully and Princess Arianne Martell.
The other lords of the Targaryen and Baratheon causes gathered around once again, just as they'd done many times before. More were glaring across the table as lords found their seats.
With a nod from King Aegon, Lord Garlan raised a hand for silence. "Your Graces, my lords, I asked King Aegon to call this council, for in our absence, a raven came to Highgarden with grave and terrible news. Maester Lomys will explain."
"Thank you, mi'lord," the maester said. "A raven," the maester shook his head sadly. "Came some weeks ago. From Eastwatch-by-the Sea, a strange thing to see a bird from so far away… I scarcely believed what I read. No… I didn't believe it. I ignored it. Then another raven came, this one from Last Hearth, then Karhold, the Dreadfort and then Torrhen's Square and White Harbour came within hours of each other. These…" the maester paused to rub tears from his eyes. "They all bore the same news. Your Graces, my lords… the Wall has fallen, and the Others have come again."
"That… that can't be true," Jon Connington managed to force out. "The Others are just… just a."
"Story?" Mathis interrupted. "Just a story? Like mad sorcerers and storms conjured from nothing?"
Jon's jaw snapped shut with an angry click of his teeth.
Mathis hardly heard the arguments as they erupted all around him. Lords shouted at each other. He was quiet and let his eyes wander to the others. Stannis was raging silently. King Aegon sat silent and aghast. Lord Connington was arguing furiously with everyone present. Mathis almost wanted to laugh.
"Lady Melisandre?" Alekyne Florent beseeched the Red Woman.
The witch had been silent, very silent for a long time, and she remained silent still for many long seconds. The silence was stretched taut like a bowstring by the time she broke it with three simple words.
"It is true. The fires have shown it, and I have felt it in the air. In the cold winds and in the snow, which carries the taint of the Great Other."
That silenced everyone. Despite, or maybe because of Melisandre's reputation, her words carried the final say.
"Winter comes from the north, while the storm rises in the south," Ser Harry Strickland said.
"This changes nothing," Jon Connington pressed on. The stubborn Stormlander forced the words out of his mouth as if he could make it true through pure conviction. "This changes nothing," he repeated. "We will crush Euron as we know we must and then turn north."
"We should send a raven to the North," Lord Edmure said. "Let them know we will act."
"I have tried my lords," Maester Lomys said. "The ravens either return to Highgarden, or else I receive word that they've landed in the Vale or the Riverlands. The birds are just," he shook his hands for emphasis. "The ravens refuse to fly to north."
"Lord Edmure," Stannis spoke at last. "Write to Lord Frey and command him to send a messenger to Lord Reed with our response. Command Lord Mallister to send a ship to Flint's Finger and Barrowton. I will send commands to House Corbray and House Coldwater to send ships to White Harbour."
"Yes, Your Grace," Lord Edmure said.
"Yes," King Aegon said. "We must not abandon the North, but neither can we abandon the south to Euron Greyjoy. We must stop him first."
"The Others will be coming to us in any case," Stannis said quietly.
"Death to Euron the Godless!" Lord Dunstan Drumm shouted.
That raised a hollow thumping of the table from the other lords, including Mathis. His personal thoughts and worries were forgotten in the furor of suppressed terror and quiet conviction.
Melisandre
The words read from the raven's letter thundered in Melisandre's ears, in her heart of hearts, and her ruby amulet pulsed and shined. They confirmed only what she'd feard already and what she'd sensed already. The Wall had fallen, and the servants of the Great Other, the enemies of all life, were on the march already.
Melisandre looked upon her flames, watched them flicker and shimmer themselves into the image of a black dragon. It struck and spat, fighting a stag of gold. The stag parried and blocked each blow of the furious dragon, each blow but the last, and the stag bled white blood into a black river. The flames shifted and turned into a black and bloody tide that beset the crowned city while crows and dragons fought in the sky above.
But most of all she saw snow and cold. An eternity of ice and death was approaching. The victory of the Great Other was nigh. And Azor Ahai Reborn… Stannis was not ready.
He had been avoiding her since the storm. Oldtown and Euron Greyjoy had shaken his faith in her, his faith in R'hllor. Whatever faith there was at all, Melisandre thought. The bitter feelings flared in her heart and made the ruby at her neck pulse in time with her heartbeat.
The fire crackled, and Melisandre absentmindedly added another log to the flames. She was still stirring it with an iron poker when she heard the flaps of her tent open and heavy footsteps enter her domain.
"Why didn't you see it?" Stannis asked with a harsh and demanding tone. "My daughter, Euron, the Others, why didn't you see it?"
Melisandre gave the coals one last stir with the poker and then laid it aside. "The Lord of Light reveals what he wishes and only when he wishes," Melisandre said as she had said many times before. Stannis seemed only incensed by her piety.
"The Spider stole into the Red Keep and took my heir from me, and your god showed you nothing."
"There are greater things at play than the life of a single girl, hinges of the world fall like leaves from a tree, snow falls, and winter comes. The enemy marches south. You must embrace your destiny, raise your blade, Lightbringer. You must be Azor Ahai come again!"
"Your magic helped me win my throne, but now your prophecies have failed me," Stannis said bitterly. His teeth were grinding furiously, and his hands were clenched into tight and angry fists. "So many things your fires didn't show you. Aegon, Euron, Varys, and the damned Others! Nothing!"
"Nothing?" Melisandre asked, rising to her feet. "Was it nothing that warned you of the wildfire at King's Landing? Was it nothing that stopped Varys' assassin? Was it nothing that slew Tywin Lannister and delivered victory from the jaws of defeat? Was it?" She demanded.
"No," Stannis admitted.
"No, it was prophecy, the power of R'hllor, used to help you and to defend everything!" Melisandre shouted, her veneer of calm and control broken at last.
Stannis ground his teeth, angry and taken aback by Melisandre's wroth.
"The same thing you want," she continued. "The army of the Great Other marches, and Azor Ahai must stand against it to defend the living, to defend this realm and all others. That comes before all else. The cart before the horse, as you put it before," she finished.
Stannis sat down, resting his hands on his knees. "You have said these things again and again. The cold winds are rising, the Great Other, what my destiny is, and what R'hllor demands of me," he sounded tired.
"Yes," Melisandre said. "I have said it since the first day I arrived on Dragonstone," Melisandre said. "That you are Azor Ahai reborn, that you must draw Lightbringer from the flames, that you will lead the defence against the Great Other and all his servants!" Melisandre was now shouting at Stannis again. "And you did not believe me. You shunned me, shunned R'hllor, even as your own wife discovered the truth in the flames. But still, you shunned the one true god. You turned to the foreigners and their weapons, the false dragons, bah!" She spat. "They are but the flicker of a candle compared to the fire of a true dragon."
Stannis' grinding teeth were as loud as an army marching as he glared down at his hands.
"But it was enough to turn your heart away from R'hllor."
"I burned your fires," Stannis growled.
"Only when you had no hope," Melisandre accused." Only when you were desperate, a false faith, a false belief, that was all you had. Was I merely to be your tool, another weapon at your disposal?"
"A red hawk," Stannis muttered off-hand. "Your visions are real, your powers are real, and I trust them. Is that not enough for you?"
"No," and then Melisandre said the words she'd not allowed herself to think, let alone speak, but had nonetheless been beating in her heart of hearts. "You are not Azor Ahai reborn," she said those words, and it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Every night, I search my fires again and again, for a sign of Azor Ahai for a sign that might guide you to Lightbringer, but there is nothing because I search for something that does not exist, and R'hllor can show only the truth."
Stannis seemed to wilt as if he hadn't realized how much he needed the destiny Melisandre had given him until she took it away again. "Will you leave then?" Stannis asked, his voice breathless. "Leave me here in the dark to ponder my mistakes?
Melisandre turned her back on Stannis and stared into her flames for a long minute, but there was no sign. R'hllor offered her no advice.
"No," she said. "I was still sent here for a purpose. I was simply wrong about what that purpose was."
Stannis continued to grind his teeth. "Then what do you plan now?
"To do what I must. To do as R'hllor wills, as I have always done."
"What must be done," Stannis said quietly. "Do you still see it?" Stannis asked, his voice weary and his shoulders slumped in tiredness. "The dragon killing a stag in a river?"
"I do," Melisandre said. She saw it again even as she spoke the words, the black dragon tearing into the golden stag, white blood pouring forth. "I see it again and again. The Lord of Light is insistent upon it."
Stannis bowed his head. "Then this ceasefire with the Targaryen must continue," he said. "Until Euron is dead," he stopped mid-sentence before continuing. "And then the damned Others."
"The Lord of Light rarely asks easy things of us," Melisandre said. "If R'hllor's tasks were easy, they would not require faith to complete."
Stannis turned his back as if he was ignoring her. Melisandre could hear Stannis grinding his teeth for a long and slow minute as he thought deeply. "Could you kill Greyjoy?" He finally asked. "Could you do it… in your way?"
"He is powerful," Melisandre said. "That kind of power attracts darkness onto itself, like armour made from the old and starry night itself," she whispered, the words calling silent and terrible horrors to the edges of her mind.
"That's not an answer."
"I might be able to," she said.
"Might," Stannis repeated.
"Yes, might," Melisandre said. "Magic is a sword without a hilt, dangerous to everyone. Only with the faith of R'hllor can I protect myself."
"And how does Euron protect himself then without your faith?"
"There are darker things, servants of the Great Other, that offer power in the mortal life in exchange for eternal slavery afterward. Foul sorcerers often ply their trade in service to such petty demons."
"I see," Stannis turned to leave.
Melisandre returned her attention to the flames when Stannis left. She poured her focus and her faith into the flickering tongues of fire. Snow is what she saw. Snow and snow and more snow, falling endlessly, the first touch of the Great Other, the enemy of all life.
But there, her eyes narrowed. There, amidst the torrent of snow, the promise of furious winter, the curse of endless night. There was something that held back the cold. She prayed, and R'hllor answered. The figment became larger. It revealed itself to her. The shape was vague, lacking all detail, but it was also clear somehow. A crown wreathed in flames, she looked closer, focusing on the crown and trying to summon detail from the flickering fire, but it remained stubbornly indistinct but for one detail. The crown wasn't wreathed in flames, she realised, the crown was burning.
