Chapter Thirteen: The Winds Begin to Blow.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.
OOOO
"Want some little Noble honey?" A whore propositioned Bran as they slipped along the dirty streets. Jiggling tits barred for easy access. Face heavily painted. Grey hair clumped in knots. "Please m' little Lord? I'd give up my left cheek to break in the Hand's son!" One of those hands reached out grasp at Bran's tunic. One of the five Stark guards knocked the woman back causing her to crash into the wall behind. He turned back chuckling only to find himself stared down by Arya.
"You think you are a funny little fucker, no?" Her head of brown curls twisting, enthrallingly grey eyes. The guard said nothing as the crowds continued to mill about their party. His comrades shifted uneasily, for when Arya Stark raged it was preferable to face the entire pack of Direwolves. "My father is the Hand of the King. A King, may I add, we reside in this foreign city at the pleasure of. If it was not acceptable to beat innocent women in the streets of Winterfell then it was certainly not acceptable here. You two!" She pointed at the burliest guards. "Escort him back to the Red Keep. A fortnight in the Black Cells should prove sufficient pennance." Without pause they disarmed him, dragging the bewildered Northman away. "Are you well, madam?" Arya assisted the sputtering whore upwards.
"I've taken a fine right number of beatings in my time, milady," The older woman winced whilst standing up. One half of her face was already turning a deep, bruised colour. "My life has been about surviving. Even though men like that keep knocking me down." Bran was still staring surprisedly at his sister's unexpected interference. "Never has a little Lady 'elped poor old me afterwards though." The prostitute began to move alongside them as their two remaining guards flanked against any possible threats. Arya did not fear having so few guards. Bran could fight, the whore probably knew a few tricks, and she herself had Lamentation.
"Our man mistreated you. It was our responsibility to remove such a volatilely tempered guard from our Lord father's company…. Madam?" Her uncertainty caused the woman to chuckle mirthfully.
"I haven't been a madam for a while now. Treat me like the lowdown whore I am. The name is Maurella." She reached up to boldly pat Bran on his cheek. Even at eleven the lad was taller. He shied away in a discomforted manner. "Knew you Stark children were good buns. That father 'asnt done much, but you lot have. The Pisswater Bend has never smelt so good. Sweet Lady Sansa is already helping the beggars off these streets and cleanin' the shit from the streets. Your dearie brother 'ere buys peasants Bowls o'Brown on Warrior's Days. Even you volunteer with those little hun's at the orphanages."
"We try to do what we can. Smallfolk at Winterfell are treated much better than they are in the south," Arya reasoned humbly, "Did you say you were once a madam? Of your own brothel?"
"Aye," The coarse woman agreed in her throaty tenor, "I rightly was. Owned my own house of flesh along the Street of Silk. The biggest behind Chattaya's. The King himself visited us almost daily. Good at sums from a young age I was, and that little brothel was turning out a large profit. Until that bastard shit Master of Coin decided he wanted me livelihood. I reckon the cunt really wanted to control King Robert's favourite whores though." Blue eyes took on a pained look, "The Gold Cloaks kicked me out at night's blackest with nothing but these clothes on my back. Like that I went from minding after sixty whores to sucking cocks for a penny a score."
"My governess taught me to never judge anyone by their appearance. She often said that I had a sharp eye for picking out those with wasted potential." Arya stared firmly at the woman as they traversed the fish markets. This prostitute indeed had much wasted potential. Admiration for the Starks, hatred for Littlefinger, and a knack for running successful businesses was a difficult combination to find. "You are special, Madam Maurella. That much I could see the moment you rose back up after that guard struck you. I implore you to follow us on an errand today. There may be an opportunity for you to rise high again." The whore had not much choice. They both were well aware that she would probably die within the year at how quickly her circumstances had changed. With a simple nodded all talking ceased. Despite a discomforted look, Bran seemed eager to see what his sibling had planned.
They slipped further into the fish markets prior to stopping in front of a large manse. Poorly located, yes, but clearly difficult to take if properly guarded. "My Lady Stark," A rotund man with cheery cheeks stood between the opened gates. He waited until they all approached, except for the guards. "This is the manse I was telling you of. Richly decorated, recently built. Confiscated by the crown from a fish merchant who had been smuggling off of Westerosi ships."
"Are the ships also being sold?" Arya asked in response.
"Two. The others were either not confiscated or-." He was cut off.
"My brother has brought coin. He shall be the one purchasing this residence as well as those two ships." She spoke succinctly.
"Arya," Bran protested, "I will do no such thing. You have dragged me here, and I have no idea what-." A single stern look shut the younger boy up as he grudgingly withdrew under half of his winnings from the Tourney of the Hand. "You go with him to count out these Dragons," The boy directed the nearest guard.
"Please Harwin," Arya corrected her brother's dismissive rudeness with regardful kindness. Wondering mentally how much of Bran's ill manners had been learned in the south. Shiera had taught them all to value those below them. Loyalty to their father did not necessarily extend to them automatically. As the two moved to go inside the sprawling manse she turned to the other guard, "Fetch thirty-five of my sister's finest men. Ten spearmen, twenty swordsmen, and five archers. Kindly bring them here to act as guards until they are told otherwise." He nodded with a mumbled 'yes ma'am' prior to scurrying off.
"Where do I fit into this all, milady?" The grizzled whore asked whilst staring warily at her. Now that the three of them were finally alone.
"It is quite simple, Madam Maurella," Arya folded both arms behind her back.
"Is it really?" Bran echoed in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes. This manse will become a brothel. Run by our new friend and ally, Madam Maurella. A rather convenient crossing of paths which will save me from having to search through semi-loyal candidates." She smiled winningly as Bran's face turned white. Grey eyes focused squarely on the older woman's haunted pair of blue. "You will be given the funding necessary to establish one of the finest brothels in King's Landing. In a week I shall personally review your efforts to determine whether they are satisfactory. In the meantime there is another thing to be considered," She pulled a paper from her trouser pocket which was handed to the new Madam. "Lure these names through these doors. Give them services Littlefinger never would have dreamt of. You will be rewarded well in the future if you manage to do as I just asked."
"What of girls?" Her body may have been caked in filth, but that face glimmered with reborn plots.
"I have already secured suitable ones. They will arrive here this evening to begin work immediately." Arya tilted her head as though peering into Madam Maurella's soul. "Both of those Stark guards have previously been instructed that they will flank you permanently. Every action you take will pass beneath their gazes. Do not betray the trust I have put in you, Madam." With that the girl spun back around to step into the streets again. Bran scurrying behind her quickly.
"Arya, you are using a brothel to plot against the Master of Coin?" Bran asked in guarded voice. At the very least he knew well enough to whisper in the chaotic streets of King's Landing.
"No." She felt how tight her throat was. Her brother had proven his cleverness in securing a base of powerful friends. That was it. The boy lacked any inkling of what it meant to surpass those powerful allies. "I am using the brothel as bait. Each of Littlefinger's Keeper of Keys will die strange deaths within the month. The Harbormaster will simply disappear at some point in between. Father will be given a prompting by King Robert to install Stark friendly allies in those positions. Those loyal supporters shall then replace each of the corrupt puppets Baelish has propped into any positions while he climbed to prominence." Her strong, wiry frame suddenly lunged when no onlookers were present. "Corrupt Small Council officials can only be stopped by corrupt dealings in turn."
Stepping away she watched as the taller boy rubbed at his bruised windpipe. Slipping away from the shadowy alcove wall to glare petulantly at her. "You can be a downright cunt sometimes Ar-."
A dagger was poised to the boy's throat in mere seconds. "Did the Royces teach you that pretty little word? Did they tell you to call any woman, even your own sisters, cunts when they step out of line?" Her voice grew less patronizing and more dangerous, if that was possible. "If you can serve the insults, then you should be able to take them back. You are a petty, misguided, uneducated, fuckface. I am ashamed to call you my brother." Her lip curled back, "Our sister is set to wed a psychotic monster, and you dare to question my treachery against Petyr Baelish?"
"He advises King Robert to agree with all of Sansa's proposals when the Small Council discusses them! Why would any sane person attack him?" Bran rebutted indignantly. Clearly the fight had not left him entirely. The nasty backhand Arya thrusted into his face seemed to have done an adequate job of sapping anything that had been left.
"That little goat shagger likes to whisper into the ears of powerful men that he defiled both our Aunt Lysa and mother! He speaks to Sansa like she is a malleable child he can roast on a spit. As though she is a naive babe that can be easily stolen from the crib." Her brother seemed to have gained some comprehension. Finally. "Even Rickon knows that you never trust in anyone's appearances. Baelish is a traitorous snake. We must cut away at his strength before he realizes what has happened. Then Pycelle, and the Spider will follow closely behind. Only if Starks wrest control of the city from House Lannister will Sansa ever be safe in Joffrey Baratheon's bed." Her pretty face twisted with a full-bodied shrugged, "Besides. If things ever turn to shit we need a spot near the ports to hide our belongings."
Slipping away the girl began to storm back towards the Red Keep while her brother followed dazedly behind.
OOOO
The Riverrun Sept was a mess, but those rainbows still shined from the windows. Hitting Catelyn's face as though she were a child again. Breathing deep, reassured breaths, those blue eyes finally opened. Cheap flowers purchased from discounted peddlers had been strung hastily all about. Bits of garbage from many attendants littered the floors. Already serving maids scurried about trying to clean the mess while noises indicative of a very loud feast could be heard nearby. The acting Lady Paramount of the Riverlands did not care to visit that particular extravaganza. Such a thing would make her feel even more monstrous than she already did.
How mightily Lysa resisted the wedding could hardly have been put into words. Screaming, clawing, biting, and other traits of demonic interference. Maester Vyman had been forced to drug the youngest Tully daughter heavily. Barely conscious the woman had then been guided firmly down the aisle to exchange foggy-faced nuptials with Lord Lychester. Now they were likely an hour or so away from filling Lychester Castle with its newest heirs. What was worse though was that Lysa would never be free again. A Piper cousin was already lined up to replace the decrepit Lychester Lord. Then in case he died prematurely Catelyn had already determined that the Silent Sisterhood would prove the only viable option remaining.
Slipping away, jostling the bundle in her arms, she cooed gently downwards. "Do you wish me to take the babe to the nursery, milady?" A frumpy maid asked while passing by.
"No," Catelyn eyed the messy Sept pointedly, "Focus on mopping the floors." Slipping free of the building she spied upon her mother's old gardens happily. They had previously been allowed to grow wild during her tenure as the Lady of Winterfell. Now every plant had been immaculately groomed by the Tully gardeners. "One day these will be your gardens. You will take your babes to breathe such fresh air as I have for you today. My sweet ward." A gentle kiss to one of those soft cheeks caused infantile giggles to erupt loudly in the air. Only three weeks had passed since Ermesande Hayford was deposited beneath her care in Riverrun. Ser Hogg, a vassal of the Hayfords, had negotiated a betrothal with Edmure's recently born son, Tristifer Tully.
The knight of Sow's Horn also tasked her with raising the girl in Winterfell where powerful friends could be made. Clever of him, though Cat suspected that Sansa had been meddling again. Hayford was likely a highly desirable target to House Lannister's greedy chops. By securing this alliance a massive chunk of the Crownlands would now belong to House Tully. That also meant that in a region of resentful Targaryen loyalists she would have a dependable ally. "You will learn the value of a woman's touch, of course." She cooed lullingly as the babe slipped into sleep. Of that the Lady was certain though she could not pretend Ermesande would ever master such matters. Even now Catelyn Stark found herself still learning exactly what a woman was capable of accomplishing on their own. Good for soothing husbands, yes, but that was far from it all.
Her ailing father had long believed that she was destined to have been his only heir besides Lysa. Before Edmure was born he trained her like he would have any son. All of Catelyn's ruthless administrative talents originated from the man. They were, of course, part of what caused Ned to appreciate and fall in love with her. Though she was beginning to realize that her father imparted more than just the skills needed to keep a household orderly. She could see the issues plaguing the Riverlands as clear as day. In her short tenure alone the woman managed to even quell some of the ones closest to Riverrun. The babe in her arms was proof enough of that. With such realizations Catelyn began to resent Edmure despite her better judgement. Still, the mental accusations rang loudly in her psyche. He was a useless man. So preoccupied by shiny things that he had spent a month at Fairmarket whilst their unruly vassals fought for control of Riverrun.
Approaching the large doors of Riverrun she finally handed a gently sleeping Ermesande off to one of the serving girls. Unsurprisingly, Maester Vyman found her not long after. "Your sister has been bedded by Lord Lychester, my Lady." He bore red cheeks after presumably bearing witness to an unpleasant bedding ceremony.
"Are we prepared to move her to Lychester Castle tomorrow at first light?" Catelyn asked. Hopefully the Riverlords would be too drunk to notice such a sight as Lysa's undoubtedly insane departure.
"Yes, my Lady. She is properly packed." He paused, "Your brother has also signed the betrothal contract between young Lord Tristifer and the Lady Hayford." That likely meant Johanna Rogare had come back to her senses. Allegedly the birth was quite a dangerous time for the young mother. Catelyn wondered cynically if her goodsister would prove to be the kick Edmure needed to return to Riverrun.
"Wonderful." She responded flatly as they neared her father's solar. Maidenpool was secured by Moredo Rogare. Pinkmaiden, Lychester, Trident's Gate, Fairmarket, Stoney Sept, Hayford, Harrenhal and Seagard were all dependable allies at that present time. For another generation at least, she amended mentally. That left the Rootes, Vyprens, Blackwoods, Brackens, Darrys, countless others, and of course, the Freys. A significantly less powerful faction of Lords with the Sunset Canal dynamic now existing to be sure, though still enough that Catelyn feared they could one day muster a sizeable rebellion. Tensions were certainly high enough that it was mind boggling how Riverrun had been spared such a fate.
They parted ways as she slipped into her father's solar. Trying to enjoy how little paperwork remained to be dealt with. Many matters had needed seeing to upon Catelyn's arrival. Entire ledgers of illegible numbers with absolutely no sense to them. Her father's mind had clearly been deteriorating at least five years prior to that present moment. More concerningly, it seemed that many Riverlords were behind on taxes, loan payments to Riverrun, and even shipments of grain. "Edmure, you fool." Her brother was the heir. He should have realized just how poorly their father was. Now it was down to her to resolve this matter. If either of the Rogares interfered it would only add to Edmure's reputation as an inept lackwit, and cause resentment of the powerful foreigners to disseminate.
Staring down at the shortened ledgers she eyed just how much was owed House Tully. Only for an unwelcome visitor to arrive with the barest of knocks as warning. "Lady Stark," Black Walder Frey spoke stiffly. He was muscular with a face that could not be called unfortunate, but not handsome either. Once this very same man had pursued her as a possible marriage prospect. Thankfully her father had managed to secure the Starks. Only three years ago Walder Frey had even sent a letter to Winterfell expressing Black Walder's interest in wedding Sansa. That particular message had gone right on the fire immediately after with no response.
"Lord Frey," She did not bother to keep any iciness from her tone. He sat in front of the desk at the beckoning of her wrist. "May I ask what matter you need to discuss away from the assembly? Especially when the servants have extended so much effort to prepare a wedding feast?"
"I could not help but notice your absence following the exchange of vows. Given your occupation with Riverland matters I imagined it was an opportune time to pass along a letter from the Twins to you." He handed her the aforementioned piece of parchment with a broken bridge seal. "My Lady." All propriety the man ever yielded was reluctant, and added as an afterthought. Peering away from him she tried not to tense.
'Lady Stark,
I have long been willing to allow certain matters pass the Crossing by. No matter how mismanaged these rivers have become during, dare I say lacking, Tully leadership Though upon learning of your recent efforts in wedding the former Lady Regent of the Vale to Lord Lychester those times are gone. Only a fortnight ago was I negotiating dowers for a betrothal with that harried and done Ser. My own end of the betrothal contracts signed with his set to be delivered.
Until your glorious return to Riverrun.
Truthfully, I should have seen such an event occuring. You Tullys know how to net the juiciest fish. Your House merely sneers and the Lords so feeble-minded as Lychester have no choice but to wed deranged madwomen such as your sister. Never mind the obligation he was contracted into with myself. Never mind that I have many sons and grandsons who were many times over just as suitable for the new Lady Lychester. Never mind that I am one of your most powerful bannerman. I tire of the boorish, old insults whilst my lands face challenges abound.
The Crannog-scum encroaches further upon my lands every passing day. Wantonly peddling their filthy wares, and corrupting my peasants with savage mannerisms. From atop her righteous hill the Great Bastard sorceress commits atrocities unchecked. All while allowing foreign filth from every backwater corner of Essos to pour across the Green Fork. Not a single Dragon sent my way from her share of the taxes. In all of this time you father, uncle, and brother have done nothing. Too preoccupied with handing all of their authority over to the Rogares. Throwing my relationship with the Iron Bank away in the process.
I will no longer wait for the Tullys to act.
There was no signature to the defiant letter. Catelyn needed no such marker though. Walder Frey's poisonous words proof enough of who had written it. She believed wholeheartedly that if she marched an army north for the Twins with such rebellious words in hand as evidence he would simply claim a Maester had stepped out of place. "What do you think, Lord Frey," She set the letter aside while staring with steely eyes at him, "It will take to make your father happy?"
"The Crannogmen must be removed from the Riverlands and recompense us for the trouble caused, Lady Seastar must pay us taxes, and a betrothal with one of your children. Perhaps Lady Arya." He was audacious and imbecilic at the same time. Clearly unaware of just how strongly Catelyn's temper was raging beneath the surface.
"Perhaps those things could have been arranged. Had your Lord father not stolen from Riverrun." A hand lifted the parchment of monies owed to House Tully into the air. "A loan payment of two-thousand dragons which the treasury have not seen heads or tails of for nearly two years. In addition to any interest that has accumulated on that sum, your father has been skimping on his taxes."
"I delivered the last taxes myself," Black Walder glared at her, though he was not his father, "Do not dare attack my integr-."
"Your Lord father's integrity was the matter of discussion. Please do try to keep up." Her voice spoke with a frosty tenor. "He was short on grains, livestock, and coin yielded. Perhaps it is because he has begun to circulate a standing force of six-thousand Frey soldiers along his borders. So as to better intimidate Lady Seastar, Lord Mallister, and Lord Reed. I would never dream of wedding my daughter into a House of thieves and upstarts who try their best to start trouble." Not to mention that Arya would one day be the Lady of the Vale. "Your father was too late to help my own father defend the Trident twenty years ago. Yet now that he suddenly cares for the integrity of our rivers I am to do his bidding?"
Black Walder opened his mouth. Only for it to close rather quickly. "No, Lord, your House has simply forgotten that its place is beneath mine own. How impressive will those six-thousand men seem when I march the full force of Riverrun, Winterfell, Lys, and the Vale to your precious Crossing?" She stood, he followed suit though the Noblewoman did not flinch at his considerable height. "I am not the Laughing Lion. The Late Lord should not think me fool enough to marry any of my children to his bloodline. That is a shame for the Lannisters alone to carry." The fool reached for his sword only for the Lady to scream, "GUARDS!"
They burst within, nearly turning the heavy door to splinters in the process. Black Walder fought viciously as she pressed herself back into the wall away from flashing steel. One of the Tully men was permanently crippled while his comrade managed to knock the Frey into unconsciousness. Unsurprisingly Maester Vyman visited her in the nursery later after having tended to the unfortunate victim of her pissing match with Black Walder. Hands still stained with red he stared with wide eyes. "My Lady, the representatives of the Assembly have suffered a disturbance within the hour," He whispered, clearly trying not to wake Lady Ermesande who was resting gently in her cradle.
"I am unsurprised. My better judgement told me that provoking Black Walder would also trigger a response from Jon Wylde. The Vyprens do follow the Late Lord in their every move after all."
"My Lady," The old man looked gravely serious, "Yes, the Vypren representative had to be subdued, but he was not the only one. After his outburst he was followed by Dafyn Vance, a likely heir to Wayfarer's Rest, and the Darry knight who was sent to look after the young Lord's interests. After it was revealed that the fight was caused by the matter of long unpaid loans to Riverrun's coffers matters worsened further. Marshal Mooton, Dalton Blanetree, and the Lolliston cousin all fled Riverrun by a downriver barge."
"Have the order dispatched that they are all to be brought back here and placed in our dungeons." She addressed his concerned face, "No need to fret over these matters, Maester Vyman. I have long planned upon instigating such a situation. Those Houses all owe Riverrun a great deal of debt. At a time when we are so close to paying off what little is still owed to the Rogares."
"What of the enmity of House Frey?" The bewildered man stuttered out in response. "Their ties run deep through these lands. Nearly half of your father's bannermen are related to them in some way."
"If the life of Black Walder is not worthwhile enough to repay us what we are owed then perhaps my brother will need to march soldiers north to further get the message across." They had slipped away from the crib so that slightly louder voices could be used. "In the meantime I need for you to send letters to all of those Houses. Explaining exactly why their relatives have been arrested or are fugitives of the law. Telling everyone who owes House Tully that we shall be paid back by the next moon's ending." He nodded as she handed him the list of names and amounts before leaving. Both of them understood how precarious these new events were. Tywin Lannister had quelled his rebellion by taking hostages. Effectively preventing the Tarbecks and Reynes from coalescing a stronger resistance. The same applied to this situation as well.
Catelyn moved to peer out of the window at the lands surrounding Riverrun. Lands that would need to be settled as much as possible before she could ever dream of leaving.
OOOO
Theon Greyjoy croaked as he sat up suddenly. The taste of stale iron coated the back of his throat. A pain erupted along his abdomen with that sudden movement. Hissing through cracked lips he fell back whilst rubbing at his incredibly dry face. "We nearly lost you, Lord Greyjoy," Shiera Seastar's terrifying voice prompted his exhausted eyelids to snap back wide open. Beautiful as ever with those veiled eyes that hid all of her dizzyingly dangerous machinations. No matter how much he had grown to love Andarra he could not help but remember how masterful a plotter the Great Bastard was. Sucking up the pain he forced himself to sit up straight. For her part, the Targaryen seemed duly impressed. "You have grown bounds, my Lord. The boy I met after first awakening in those Crypts never would have survived such an ordeal."
"I do not remember what occurred," He admitted through gritted teeth. More bothered at putting himself under her mercy with regards to the accurate dispensation of needed knowledge than from actual pain. If any of his men were still alive they would certainly need to be consulted later. This treacherous viper could not be trusted by a single word. She surprised him by moving forth to sit at his side. Gently, almost tenderly, wiping at his awfully scratchy face with a nearby balm. Not a viper, he realized suddenly, but a fire breathing dragon. The most lethal representation of her familial sigil any Targaryen who ever lived could have dreamt of matching. At that realization he recognized why Robb Stark had grown so deeply enamored with the woman.
"You were escorting four new Giants south to assist with the construction of a settlement on the White Knife. Along with ten Skinchangers." Shiera Seastar eyed him, "A host of three-hundred men were travelling with you. Half were slaughtered in an ambush by bandits."
"Bandits?" Theon snarled disbelievingly, "We both know the Boltons did this."
"Of course we know the truth of it." The Lady of Trident's Gate nodded, "But Lord Bolton has been nothing but clever. He dresses his men as Wildlings, or raiders by the sea. Lord Karstark following his lead."
"This time they struck on Stark lands. Not in the Gift," Theon rebutted sternly, "We cannot allow them to think Winterfell's interests can be thwarted by 'bandits.'"
"Once Lord Robb has returned we can share your frustrations with him. I imagine we will need to accelerate this situation with the Boltons. If it is ever to be resolved in this lifetime." Her face only betrayed the emotions she wished for him to see. "All men act in predictable ways when pressure is put upon them. Perhaps if we cut at their purse strings a peasant revolt will set the way of things back into order." Now a wicked glimmer flashed in those eyes prior to being reined in.
"What of my cargo?" Theon asked with unveiled nervousness at this point.
"Rest assured, Lord Greyjoy. The Giants all arrived here alive, and demolished the attacking force. Each of the Skinchangers were released by a desperate Wildling when the battle started off with such an awful ambush. With the aid of their familiars and the chained Giants you lived to hear this news." She crooked her head at him. "It seems to have done a great deal of good for morale to introduce a common enemy. All ten Skinchangers now wear Stark colours. The Giants helped us to finish the new walls of Winterfell during your sleep. I have sent them with heavy guard to begin construction of a new project on the White Knife."
The door opened at that moment to reveal Maester Luwin. "I asked you not to pester him, Lady Seastar," He was cool in his speech. It was no secret in Winterfell that Luwin distrusted her. Behind him the handsome Sam Codd peered over the old man to flash a devilish grin at him. Only a moon earlier he had finally gotten the lad into bed with himself and Andarra. Perhaps his injury would be what was necessary to get Lord Codd to finally agree to a bit of rutting.
To her benefit the Great Bastard did not respond with anything other than warmth to Luwin's antics. "Of course, Maester," She smiled demurely, "I must be seeing to young Rickon anyways."
"Perhaps to expose him more to the running of brothels and whore selection," He bit back shortly.
She simply spread her arms. "Just because you are unable to enjoy the wonders of the flesh, Maester Luwin," Her eyes glimmered with mirth, "Does not mean it is a useless pursuit. As Winterfell's acting manager of the books I would have expected you to appreciate the profits my reforms have brought to the coffers." Wordlessly she left without another glance at any of them. Clearly wielding an aura of such confident sensuality that Sam Codd stumbled back into the wall as she passed him by.
"I missed Winterfell," Theon sighed as Maester Luwin began to explain how his intestines had been protruding from his abdomen, "No place more exciting in this whole world."
OOOO
"Where is Arya?" Sansa wasted no time confronting Bran as he entered the Stark apartments. The lad decided his sister had been at the Guildhall as usual. Her hands bore the distinctive ash from a day spent working with flames. Why she cared to spirit herself into such a strange place was not disclosed to him. Only to Arya.
Resentment began to boil in Bran's belly at how little any of his family seemed to think of his loyalty since he had left Winterfell to become a squire. Until he noticed just how stricken Sansa's usually compassionate face was. Pale and bloodless, her blue dress covered in marks from where she had been mindlessly tugging at it. "Cynthea Frey came to fetch her as soon as we arrived," He explained nervously, never having seen Sansa so uncomposed in three years at least, "King Robert summoned her to his chambers. They always have luncheons togethe-."
In that moment Sansa's eyes rolled into the back of her head. He rushed forth to catch her before a nasty fall could occur. For a moment his eldest sister jerked wildly as he bellowed her name frantically. Suddenly the Tully blue he was used to replaced those violent whites. "We must hurry to the kennels Bran. I will explain as we go." Skirts tugged to discourteous heights she sprinted out of the Hand's quarters. Worried immensely for her sanity and reputation he dashed after only seconds later. "Father-resigned-as-Hand!" She panted as they struggled out of the Tower of the Hand. "King-Robert-Is-Furious. Father-was-attacked-in-the-city-this-hour."
"Why are we running to the kennels then?" He shouted back only to be ignored. Following while beating away a desire to visit his father the lad focused on sprinting despite the heavy mail he wore. Hissing to a halt the pair finally arrived at the kennels. What they came across shocked him to his core. Prince Joffrey was surrounded by a swarm of men while the Hound slashed furiously at four very angry Direwolves. The Stark children only left their easily distinguishable companions in the kennels when trips to the city were in order. Bran surmised that the Prince had ordered some sort of attack on the formerly penned animals until they broke loose. Perhaps one could have been manageable. Four of them, however, all nearing the sizes of horses were no simple matter to eliminate.
"What is the meaning of this?" Sansa snarled, slipping beside Dream as Bran accompanied Ruin. Phantom flanked Nymeria closely, both snarling at their visibly unsettled opponents. Five men, a Clegane, and a snivelling Prince did not stand much of a chance in this confrontation after all.
"Your father is no longer the Hand," Joffrey hissed venomously, face red as a tomato. "That means his word no longer matters. As your betrothed I have the right to not wish my future Queen to be shadowed by such filthy beasts! My mother gained the approval of my father in this matter!" A sadistic smile crossed his face, "Winter is Coming. They will make fine pelts. Even though you shall soon not be leaving my chambers often, Stark whore."
Bran jutted forth to begin fighting for his sister's honour until she reached over to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Threaten me that way again, Joffrey Baratheon," Her voice was cold as ice, "And you shall truly know the bite of winter. Even a spiked phallus ripping into your repugnant arsehole will not compare to the sheer wrath of House Stark." She slipped forwards whilst the hands dangling at her sides began to tighten sinisterly. Each of the four Direwolves curled onto their haunches as the torches around the large group began to gutter enigmatically. A freezing chill descended over Bran's bones. Then the howls started to bounce across the stone. Not mournful, but hungersome. This was the primal noise of a pack preparing to feast. "Harm us not. Or the men around you shall suffer the score. Your precious Hound will blow through the wind as a pile of ashes 'till the sun sets no more."
Several long moments passed. Until Joffrey Baratheon, the Crowned Prince of Westeros fled with loud wails. Pursued closely by each of his soldiers. Until finally the Hound followed whilst staring speculatively at Sansa. "Better get those monsters out of the city. Before the Prince grows a cock and balls, Starks." He warned over his shoulder.
When they were finally left alone Sansa collapsed against Bran's nearby body. "Find Arya," She breathed heavily, eyes rung by purple bruises that had not been there when they first entered the kennels. "The King is highly unstable and drunk. It is not safe for her to be anywhere near him."
"I cannot leave you here, sister," He argued strongly.
"I can take care of myself Brandon Stark," She corrected him firmly. After what he had just witnessed the boy could not quite argue with such sentiment. Sansa was clearly not quite so demure or saintly as she liked to present herself. "Take Nymeria and Ruin. These two will be enough to guard me." Stumbling away the Lady collapsed against the bars of what had once been the Direwolves' pen. Phantom and Dream nuzzling affectionately at her. "Make sure that father is secured by Stark men. I heard a rumour that Queen Cersei tried to have him arrested. Jory Cassel is dead." Her tired face peered at him through the darkness, "Hurry Bran…."
OOOO
Arya screamed though no one seemed to care. Her tunic hung torn, sword outside of the King's chambers with an eagerly complicit Meryn Trant. A slobbering, massive King hunkering towards her with a drunken face. Breath which reeked of vomit and sour wine grew ever more distinct despite the knife. "Ned tried to take you from me, Lyanna," He growled, "But I won't let that happen ever again." Once more the fat arse lunged forwards though this time she did not hesitate in cutting at his hand. Unfortunately for her he was so drunk that the pain was likely a mere prick. She was backhanded downwards and pressed to the floor beneath many stones of fat.
Hissing the girl screamed violently whilst punching him repeatedly in the face. This could not happen, she decided firmly. This would not happen. She was destined to be the Lady of the Vale one day. Not to become a plaything to the corrupt, obese King of Westeros. Who would call her by her aunt's name as he snapped her like a twig. Surely, a firm grip tightened against the blade again. Fabric ripped further. Arya Stark readied herself to kill a King.
The doors burst open. One of them knocking halfway off the hinges. "UNHAND MY SISTER!" Nymeria bounded forth in a flash of grey. King Robert squealed as the Direwolf ripped viciously into his right arm. Gasping loudly Arya stumbled upwards into the arms of Bran. Beside him stood Cynthea Frey with a horrified expression on her face. Despite her state of distress the clever Stark girl whistled keenly so Nymeria slipped back from her prey. It would not do for the King to be murdered with her maidenhead no longer under threat.
"I AM THE KING!" Robert bellowed, spittle flying out in strings onto his foul beard. Arya's stomach twisted violently at the sheer realization that such a foul creature had almost ruined her. At least fifteen Stark and Harrenhal men surrounded him. "I have rights to any wench I see fit!" Blood streamed about the floor from where he had been savaged by Nymeria.
They stumbled from the cavernous chambers into the hall where forty more soldiers awaited. Boros Blount lay dead on the ground with Lamentation dropped nearby. "Meryn Trant fled at the sight of us, Lord Bran," One of Sansa's Knights professed mournfully, "I sent two men to catch him, but he gained a vast head s-."
"We can only hope to contain the situation," Arya finally snapped out of her state. "That fat piece of shit told me Cersei tried to have father arrested today. Where is he?"
"Severely wounded in the charge of Maester Py-." Bran cut himself off at the sudden realization. "Hurry now. Send twenty men to secure our father!"
"Take Pycelle hostage. Seek out Maester Paege to treat our father's injuries." Arya followed up closely. The twenty men wasted no time running off for the former Hand. At this point her brother wrapped his large cloak about her uncomfortably exposed frame. "Cynthea," She spoke in a softer tone, "I need you to find all of my Ladies-in-Waiting as well as Sansa's. You all need to flee north with the Direwolves for Harrenhal. The capital is no longer safe."
"I will not leave you," The Frey girl spoke bravely. Blue eyes shining brilliantly with loyalty.
"Of course not," Arya amended, "But the others must. Such hostages cannot fall into Lannister cells. Then after they have begun packing order my Blue Roses to deploy alongside Sansa's men and the Stark guards." She dashed away without much further pause. "Where is Sansa?" Arya demanded frantically of her brother.
"You sit." He guided the traumatized girl to lean against the wall. "Stay here. So long as we have the King we control the city." With that she was allowed to finally sit against the wall beneath the comforting depths of the voluminous, silk cloak. Arya refused to cry in that moment. She was a Stark of Winterfell in King's Landing with a highly inept father and enemies abound. Such weakness could not be given free reign until a pillow could hide her sobs. "I must retrieve Sansa so that we are all together again," He nodded, "I will be back soon."
Leaving her alone again.
OOOO
Val could not remember the last time she slept in something other than a makeshift tent. Huts were rare these days Beyond-the-Wall with all of the ransacking which had taken place. Sighing she tried to enjoy the small comfort of a large hearth and shelter from the descending cold. At the hip rested her nephew while a smattering of important Free Folk leaders sprawled about nearby. Thoughts occupied Val's minds most nights. Ten-thousand men and women with countless children unaccounted for. That was the number the Master of Glaciers had given her. So far it seemed to be coming true. From every pocket of resistance at least half of the Free Folk followed. The rest staying behind rather than to ever stoop so low as to kneel for a southron Lord.
Behind them the Dustins had followed. Thousands of men hunting down Wildlings to no avail. Any fighters that Val had not recruited were secretly gathering north of the Haunted Forest for one last stand. Such a fight would be pathetic. All fifty giants they had encountered were with her, their mammoth herd in tow. Most of the warriors in her party were fresh and unbled while their idealistic, harried parents would likely fall apart at first charge. Slipping up she released a small sigh of relief as her nephew remained fast asleep. Thinking of the ten-thousand who were destined to die left her feeling ill at ease. Only once beneath the swirling snow could Val find calmness again.
She should not have been standing there. Fists tightened at this frequently recurring thought. Mance would never feel so unsure of himself. Dalla, like a true mother, would do what needed doing with her babe swaddled to her hip the whole while. "I cannot do this." Too much doubt muddied her thinking for comfort.
"Nay, you shall," Came the feeble voice of Mother Mole. A quarter of their ranks had come over when Val defeated Harma the Dogshead in single combat. Twice that when they visited Mother Mole's gathering of Free Folk. The cult had been preparing to travel back to Hardhome based off of the Woods Witch's prophetic visions. Until the Master of Glaciers spent a day speaking to her privately beneath a sacred grove of the Haunted Forest. Now, with a bowl in her hands and eyes shining bright it seemed that the woman followed a new vision. "You shall lead us to safety. As another Mother once did from many leagues east of this spot."
"That is what everyone says," The young woman responded haughtily, "Though repeating such encouraging words does not make them any truer. How are we to cross the Wall? Without the Crows slaughtering us. With so many orphaned children, fifty Giants, and one-hundred mammoths?" Despite reports of many Free Folk being allowed entry to kneel this was an entirely different circumstance. Never in all of history had an army been brought to the Wall with good intentions. No, they would likely order a mass execution than show any leniency.
"If we stay death will come to us," Mother Mole declared sternly, "Already thousands of our people are thriving in the Gift." She held out a bowl of paste. Gnarled fingers reached up to run down from Val's face, to her sternum, and to rest against her belly. "I have seen you seduce our saviour. With fertility that glows as brightly as the sun. Two babes shall be born. Two orphans you shall wean. The Master of Glaciers sees no further than his own ambitions. My dreams are full of salvation for these children beneath our guard. Only a mother can guide another mother through the challenges to come."
"I am no mother," Val corrected firmly. Taking the bowl into her own hand.
"Not yet," Mother Mole corrected with a sweet smile, "Though I shall help you with such." She left without another word to whichever hollow tree she had been sleeping in. Shrugging at the odd woman, Val slipped about what had once been a settlement. Now except for a few huts there were mounds of long cold ashes. On the perimeter rested the colony of Giants. The massive creatures had been decidedly tasked with guarding their riches. Everywhere they travelled had yielded buried treasures, or abandoned property of some sort. The Master of Glaciers wasted no time claiming it himself. 'Dowries will be needed south of the Wall.' He prophesied with cold cheeriness. As though the army, wargs, and Giants were not already reason enough to steal her, Val thought mirthfully.
With a wooden spoon of the tangy paste lifting to her lips, Val had little idea just how much of her life had already been written in the stars.
OOOO
Another long one. Hopefully I did not have a ton of grammatical errors.
Next Chapter: How the Birds Trill So Beautifully.