(a/n: Sorry for the wait! Enjoy!)
Part 7: In The Name of the King (1)
An awful sight greeted Ned when he entered the king's chamber.
Robert's chamber felt more like a crypt than a king's chambers. In the king's chamber was the king himself, Joffrey, Cersei, Ser Barristan Selmy and Maester Pycelle, who was treating the wounded king.
The Hand of the King was having a rotten week thus far. After speaking with the woman Selina, he was attacked by Jaime Lannister. In the ensuing skirmish, Ned lost most of his men and gained a limp. The following couple of days, Ned had been bedridden. Robert visited Ned and the two made amends over their disagreement during their last session of the small council and the northerner was reinstated as Hand.
The king returned to his jovial self and Ned's spirits were raised a little, though the loss of his men and the wound still weighed on him.
Robert informed Ned that he was going to be away on a hunt for a few days and that he would be back to discuss some important matters with his Hand, namely Tyrion's current predicament.
Unfortunately, there was an incident during the hunt from what Ned was once great warrior was now abed, covered in bloodied rags and lathered in remedies meant to subdue inflammation and prevent infection.
As Ned neared his friend's bed, he got a better view of the wounds and felt his heart sank. It would seem that the boar gored Robert very good. Puss oozed at parts of the wounds and a foul stench stung Ned's nose, possibly from the wound itself and from the lack of bathing. Robert looked haggard but was awake. He was currently speaking to his son in a low, raspy voice, sounding too weak to even breathe.
Upon seeing Ned enter his chambers, Robert told Joffrey to leave, who obeyed without a word. Cersei glared at Ned but said nothing while Pycelle hovered nearby. Ned sat down in the chair by Robert's bed, looking upon his old friend with sadness and dismay. Judging from Pycelle's expression before he departed and from the state of Robert's wounds, Ned deduced that there was no good news to be had.
The Hand of the King sat there quietly staring at his king, not really sure what to say. Eventually, Robert was the first to speak.
"Stinks" grunted Robert "Stinks like death"
Ned nodded slowly, eyeing Robert's bloodied rags and blankets. The wounds looked even worse up close.
Robert grinned and let out a dry chuckle "I paid the bastard back Ned, stabbed him right in the brain I did."
A small smile tugged at Ned's lips but he couldn't bring himself to allow it to appear.
After expressing his desire to have his funeral feast being the biggest and serving the boar that got him, Robert ordered everyone to leave, save for Ned. Cersei protested but Robert insisted, followed by a rattling cough. The room was vacated and the two old friends were left alone.
When they were alone, Ned spoke "You damn fool".
The haggard king nodded a little "I suppose I did underestimated that boar…surviving all those battles and defeating all those knights and for what? I think the gods are playing a rather cruel jape. Ha! Imagine what they'll say…King Robert Baratheon, murdered by a wild pig while he was drunk off his arse."
"There are worse ways to die," said Ned. Robert nodded in agreement. Ned considered his words carefully, not truly sure of what he wanted to speak with Robert about.
A thought came to mind and he decided to speak on it. "I spoke with Selina" Ned said "Before Ser Jaime Lannister attacked me."
Strangely enough, Robert's expression brightened a bit. "Selina?" said Robert, his voice soft and affectionate "How is she?"
"She seems to be doing well," Ned answered, studying his friend's face "Her and those children seem happy."
"Did she ask after me?" asked Robert.
Ned thought for a moment then nodded "Yes, and she still wears that medallion you gave her."
Robert grinned broadly and sighed deeply "That woman…" murmured the wounded king. Ned asked his friend about Selina and the king shook his head slowly.
"…I love her, Ned" Robert said, finally "Selina…"
"Love?"
"Aye. That woman…when I first met her, she treated me like any other man. None of that 'yes your majesty' or any of the usual platitudes. Even after I told her who I was, she still spoke her mind. She told you, did she? About how we met?"
Ned nodded.
"That woman…she made me feel young again…made me feel alive," said Robert "Ever since I won this crown…something changed. I felt…dead. The crown never suited me and neither did fatherhood. For years I wanted to just leave it all behind, trade this life for that of a sellsword. I wanted adventures. With Selina, I felt as if I were back on the Trident, battling Rhaegar's army and that anything was possible again. Despite my gifts and words, that woman turned me away every time. Her fire, her words, her stubbornness and her beauty…she reminded me of Lyanna, a little."
Thinking back to the woman, Ned could see some of Lyanna in Selina's features and her manners. The Hand of the King considered his friend's words. He has heard most of this before and dismissed it as for some fanciful dream of Robert's. But now, Robert sounded like a prisoner yearning for freedom.
"Ned…" croaked Robert.
Ned's attention returned to his king "Yes?"
"Tell Selina…I'm sorry," said Robert, his voice almost a whisper "…sorry for not following through with our plans…the Jade Sea and all that will have to wait."
Ned wasn't sure if he was able to keep that promise but agreed. The discussion continued on in like fashion, where Robert recalled old names and places, speaking of them with fondness. When the discussion turned to more recent events and people, Robert's expression soured. "…and that pale bastard…" grumbled the king "that lunatic who mocked me at the tourney…"
"He's still abroad" Ned said, grimly "Rumors say that he is gathering supporters. The more those bandits put the countryside to the torch and the sword, the stronger he grows. The smallfolk see him as some sort of hero while others are terrified of him. Some even see him as the Smiling Knight come again."
"Kill him Ned" said Robert "Drive a sword through his heart, for my sake." Ned promised that he would, feeling that he could fulfill that promise at least.
Robert coughed; spitting up phlegm and gestured to the table near his bedside.
"Ink and paper" the king wheezed, in-between coughs "Quickly, I need you to write this down."
Ned retrieved the items and began to write down Robert's words, which named Ned as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon his death, to rule in his stead until Joffrey came of age. Unbeknownst to the king, Ned revised the king's words a little to where the right to rule would fall to Robert's true heir. This was done knowing the horrible truth of Joffrey's parentage. The Hand of the King had a plan in place and he had to move quickly. He knew that forces were working against him and now that Robert was approaching death's door, the kingdom's future hinged on what came next.
Once he finished transcribing Robert's words and being instructed to deliver the paper to the council when Robert dies, the wounded king smiled, weakly.
"You'll rule now…you'll hate worse than I did" Robert said, sounding weary "But you'll do it well. The girl, Daenerys…you were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother…worthless. None of them could tell me no but you…and Selina."
Robert pleaded with Ned to watch over Joffrey and help him grow to be a better man than him and call off the assassins the crown had hired to eliminate the girl before it was too late. After another fit of coughing, the wounded king asked his friend to give him something for the pain and to let him die.
When Ned departed Robert's chamber, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse.
Liram awoke to a nightmare. It felt as if the world was spinning and that the contents of his stomach were forcing their way up into the back of his throat. After steadying himself and fighting the urge to vomit, the dizzy feeling faded a little and Liram's vision cleared enough for him to see the worst possible sight one could ever imagine: a pale, grinning face with emerald eyes, almost suspended in the air before him like a phantom in the shadows of the night and dancing torch light.
The face was mere inches away and smelled of lemon and mint.
The soldier jumped a little and tried to scurry away but he quickly discovered that he was sitting and was bound to the trunk of a towering old tree. The more he fought, the tighter the cords became, scraping against his bare flesh. In addition to being bound to a tree, with the most infamous outlaw in all the Seven Kingdom's standing before him, Liram realized that he was stripped of everything: his leather armor, his sword, boots and every other article of clothing.
After much struggling, Liram looked up at the grinning man and spoke, trying hard not to sound frightened. "What in seven hells is this?" Liram demanded, "Where am I and why am I naked?"
"You, my dear fellow, are here to be judged," answered the pale outlaw in a calm, breezy voice "You are naked as the day you are born because when stripped of all armor, clothing and finery, all men are equal as they are in death and to justice."
Liram scowled "Judged for what? I did nothing wrong!"
"Lies!" hissed a female voice.
The Laughing Prince, looking every bit a prince, swept his regal emerald and purple cloak aside, revealing a rather ugly woman.
Judging from the wiry grey hair and copious amounts wrinkles, the woman was possibly about as old as the naked soldier's own grandmother. Despite the grandmotherly appearance, her expression bore an unfathomable rage and coldness.
Lingering beyond the torchlight and gathered in the shadows, Liram could make out dozens of shapes and eyes, watching with anger and anticipation, making the soldier feel even more naked and embarrassed. Jabbing a boney finger, the elderly woman snarled, "You lot murdered my son and my granddaughter!"
Liram shook his head "No…no I…I didn't murder anybody!"
"They wore the sigil of House Clegane!" cried a voice from the shadows "I saw 'em!"
"As did I!" cried another.
Liram shook his head "No, that wasn't me!" The woman moved to strike the naked and bound soldier, shrieking hysterically that he was lying but the Laughing Prince held her back.
The pale outlaw ushered the weeping woman away, a comforting arm around her shoulders and soothing words tumbling from his lips like wine. Liram gazed in astonishment at the pale man. The soldier heard tales of this infamous outlaw. His various exploits made him out to be some sort of demonic trickster or some unstoppable monster and yet it didn't seem that way with the old woman. He wiped away her tears with a silk cloth and said something that made her smile a warm, good-humored smile.
When the old woman was calmed, the Laughing Prince turned and regarded the naked soldier with grim and serious expression.
"Forgive her" he said, "This poor woman, like these other good people, has lost much at the hands of Lannister men."
Liram swallowed. He did not like the sound of this.
The pale outlaw continued, "As of late, the good folk of these lands are suffering under the hands of marauders serving Ser Clegane, who in tern is serving the golden lion of Casterly Rock. Many here have already lost homes, loved ones and livelihoods. But no more."
A soft wave of chattering announced their agreement. "No more shall the small folk live like cattle to be slaughtered by lions or krakens or wolves or stags."
A few voices voiced their agreement from the dark. The Laughing Prince shook his head slowly "No more shall they kneel in the mud and lick the boots of these disgusting parasites who do nothing but war with one another, killing innocent men, women and children who want nothing more than to live in peace. No more will their daughters be victims to the appetites of the thugs and brutes in the pockets of these lords who do nothing to help!"
All around Liram and the Laughing Prince, cheers and roars filled the night, as well as calls for Liram's blood.
The hairs on the back of Liram's neck stood. This wasn't good.
A young boy brought forth a roll of parchment and proffered it to the nobly dressed outlaw. The Laughing Prince accepted the parchment and unfurled it then began to read aloud a list of heinous crimes and accusations leveled at Liram. Most of them didn't sound familiar to the naked soldier, but when the crime of theft was listed, he felt his heart skip a beat and regret filled his thoughts for the first time in many years.
Once the reading of the crimes was completed, the pale outlaw turned to the naked soldier, his eyes gleaming in the torchlight and said sweetly "Now then, soldier of House Lannister, what say you? Guilty or innocent?"
Liram gave the pale man a strange look "What say I? Innocent! I'm innocent!"
"Lies!" spat a voice
"Thieving bastard!" shouted another.
A chorus of jeers and snarls rose from the dark but the Laughing Prince held up a hand, silencing the angered voices instantly.
The pale outlaw's eyes twinkled "Innocent you say?"
Liram nodded furiously.
Crouching down, the Laughing Prince gazed deeply into the naked soldier's eye. A few moments of awkward silence passed and the pale outlaw spoke. "I believe you are speaking the truth," said the Laughing Prince. A series of gasps and surprised voices chattered in the dark, some sounded incredibly angry. Liram felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders.
However, the Laughing Prince continued speaking.
"I believe you are speaking the truth…and yet I believe that these good folks also speak truly," explained the outlaw "You have an honest face and I feel that you are being honest, but I have yet to hear a good explanation for this." He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a small piece of silver dangling from a bit of string. Liram swallowed hard and felt his heart sink.
The naked soldier was indeed a member of a raiding party, but not one led by Ser Clegane. While he did not take part in the bloodshed, Liram was guilty of another sin. Everything started coming back into focus for the soldier.
Liram had arrived after one of Ser Clegane's raids had finished. It was his duty was to gather whatever would be useful for Lord Tywin and his army. Some of the men helped themselves to what they saved from the torched villages, mostly food, coin and women. Liram was appalled by the bloodshed and the callous attitudes of his fellow soldiers, towards those slain in the raid and towards those poor souls who were still alive in the ashes of their destroyed villages.
Although he liked to hold himself above his base and greedy comrades, being faithful adherent to the Faith of the Seven that he was. However, Liram had a moment of weakness. Among the food and items gathered, the young soldier found a shiny bit of silver and pocketed it as a gift for the girl he fancied back in Lannisport.
When the raiding party mounted and rode out, Liram lagged behind and was ambushed by a band of dirty looking men in rough spun clothes and white powdered faces. They appeared out of the woods like ghosts and overpowered him quickly and the next thing he knew, Liram woke up to this mock trial.
Cornered and facing down a murderous outlaw and a bloodthirsty mob, Liram confessed. He told the truth and emphasized that he wasn't involved in the raids. The Laughing Prince's face betrayed no hint to his thoughts or emotions. He stood there, listening patiently and silently.
After Liram completed his tale, the pale outlaw scratched his chin. "That is quite a story," he said.
"I'm telling the truth!" the naked soldier insisted, "I murdered no man or woman…"
"You merely stole a cherished piece of silver" the pale outlaw finished.
Frustration bubbled in the young soldier. It seems like that no matter how much Liram tried, he wasn't going to be heard. The pale outlaw stood there, still as a statue and regal like a lord, mulling over the soldier's confession. Moments passed at a slug's pace.
Finally the Laughing Prince waved a hand "Untie him and stand him up." A pair of large men emerged from the shadows and loosed Liram from his bindings then roughly pulled him to his feet.
The green haired outlaw spoke in a loud, clear voice. "I find no fault in this man" the Laughing Prince declared "I find him to be an honest man, innocent of the blood shed by the armies of Tywin Lannister."
A few voices cried out in outrage but the Laughing Prince continued on. "Though he is innocent of the accusations of murder, this man is guilty for the crime of thievery."
Liram tried to protest but his voice was drowned by a growing cacophony of angry voices arising from the dark woods around them. The naked soldier looked about him in fear as men and women of various ages and sizes emerge from the shadows, faces all twisted with rage and hate. Each of them carried daggers, clubs and other assorted weapons, each of them baying for blood.
It appeared to Liram that the crowd was getting out of control but the Laughing Prince looked calm. He tried to calm them peacefully but his voice was drowned out as well.
Angry, the outlaw roared "SHUT IT!"
The armed mob stopped dead in its tracks.
The Laughing Prince's face twisted into a harsh expression. His hand swept open his cloak, revealing a beautiful sword with a blue crescent moon shaped pommel and snarled, "Any of you who takes another step shall taste my blade. I will not allow any insubordination!"
The mob remained still, each looking unsure as to how to proceed. The pale man's expression softened and he addressed the assembled mob that was growing more restless and bloodthirsty by the moment.
"My friends, please…I implore that you be patient and bear with me" the pale man pleaded, his voice raw with emotion "I know you have lost much and are in pain…believe me, I know your pain for I have suffered like you. You have chosen me to be your leader, to be your sword to strike down these vile lords and earn justice. However, you must remember…these soldiers are human too. They have homes and families who depend on them and are waiting for them to return. True, these men are instruments of death in the hands of men like Tywin Lannister, but please remember that men like this one…" he gestured to Liram "are men like you, flawed men. Some have no choice but to serve and to fight and let their beastly impulses take hold, unlike men like Gregor Clegene who delights in death and misery and is evil incarnate. Men like him should be brought low and be made to answer to the people he has harmed but men like this one…should be treated fairly before the law. If we devolve into a mindless rabble and execute mindlessly, we're no better than Clegene and Tywin Lannister."
Silence followed the Laughing Prince's speech. From the faces, a number of them still wanted to tear Liram apart for being a Lannister soldier and for stealing but their expressions softened and the general mood cooled. The Laughing Prince smiled warmly and called forth the old woman from before. He placed the silver necklace in her hand and closed her fingers around it, saying that it has been returned to its rightful owner.
The woman wept and blessed the pale outlaw for retrieving the necklace. The mood lightened a little more and the armed mob lowered their weapons.
The Laughing Prince smiled "Thank you. You will have justice. You have my solemn vow, but we simply cannot let our emotions get the better of us." He turned to face Liram "As I have said, this man is innocent of murder but not of thievery. He shall be punished as such."
The pale man nodded and the two men brought a struggling Liram forward then forced him to kneel. Another man brought forth a heavy wooden block and they placed the naked soldier's hand onto the block. The Laughing Prince, now solemn faced, drew a dagger. Silently, the crowd gathered a little closer to watch the proceedings. Kneeling, the pale outlaw gruffly took Liram's hand and chopped off the soldier's ring finger.
The naked soldier let out a pained scream, tears welling up in his eyes. Through the pain and tears, Liram noticed that the men holding him released him and that the Laughing Prince was binding up the newly made stump on his hand. Something soft and warm enveloped him and the naked soldier realized that he was being wrapped in the pale outlaw's emerald and purple cloak.
Liram blinked away the tears, his mind reeling from the pain and tried to make sense of what was happening. This pale man pronounced him guilty for stealing and had every right to hang him as a thief or worse but didn't. Liram heard stories of the Laughing Prince, good and bad. For most of his trial, the naked soldier feared the infamous fugitive and thought the worst stories about him were true. However, the outlaw's actions said otherwise.
Giving a guilty, naked soldier the cloak off his back, binding said soldier's wounds and shielding him from the fury of an angry mob, that didn't seem like the actions of a demonic outlaw or a criminal. To Liram, they seemed like the actions of a king from one of the old stories.
After his wound was bound, the Laughing Prince ordered one of his men to give the naked soldier some clothes, water and food. When the stupefied soldier asked about the outlaw lord's cloak that now hung around his shoulders, the pale man clapped the soldier on the back and japed about how he didn't want the poor lad to catch his death of cold and asked for it back once he dressed. The soldier was soon led away by a man whose face was powdered white.
The Laughing Prince sighed and muttered a few prayers under his breath, invoking the Mother's mercy upon the soldier and upon the group for their rage towards the naked soldier and asked for wisdom to judge rightly in future trials and for the strength to act with honor. Most of the gathered small folk didn't hear, but those who did were amazed and their view of the pale outlaw brightened a little.
The pale outlaw smiled "Justice has been done. I am not a Septon but I believe that the Seven are smiling down upon us all. We let justice see this through and each man brought before us have been justly dealt with. That is all for the night. Go and get some rest, tend to your families and whatnot. Tomorrow we shall continue."
The assembled small folk dispersed, satisfied with the evening's line of trials and dispensing of justice. Each of them took a torch or lantern with them. All bid the pale outlaw a fond farewell. Some tried to kneel or bow, a few even tried to kiss his hand like they would a trueborn lord, but for each one the outlaw asked them not to do that and embraced each of them like a man would his brother.
With each departure, the little island of light shrunk. After the last of the group was gone, the Laughing Prince was left alone with a single dollop of light that came from a lonesome torch planted in the ground a short distance away.
Finally alone, in the dancing torchlight, the pale man's grin faded a little.
Playing the part of an honorable, noble hero took a lot out of him, day in and day out it was all very exhausting. Having to bury and suppress his true nature, it was like holding in ones breath while being trapped in the bottom of the sea. It was almost unbearable. Despite his best effort's, his true self was scratching away behind the mask he wore for these simple people.
Regardless, the Laughing Prince held on and did what was necessary to not ruin the farce. Everything that he did was necessary for his goals, like capturing and dispensing justice upon a bunch of Lannister soldiers.
Most were executed, but a few, including that last soldier, were spared in order to make a big show about being honorable or some such nonsense.
The pale outlaw picked up the torch and left. He walked a far distance away from where he and his followers held trial and after he was certain that he was alone, sat down at the base of a nearby tree. The outlaw began to whistle a soft tune, not worried at all about the hefty bounty upon his head and the numerous hounds that may be lurking in the night, hoping to catch him.
It didn't matter much to the Laughing Prince. Nothing truly did matter to him, save for a few things. With each day and with each new town devastated by Tywin Lannister, meant more instability for the Seven Kingdoms, which was just peachy for the outlaw. The outlaw's grin returned when he pondered the current affairs of the kingdom a little further.
The death, the carnage and the misery flooded the Riverlands with bitter and angry souls. The river lords are doing all that they can to quell the violence but Tywin was a skillful commander and Ser Clegane was a ruthless butcher with a talent for killing. A deadly combination to say the least and the river lords were helpless to stop them.
Word had reached the pale man's ears about the Lannister dwarf being held in the Vale of Ayrrn, which provided some good material in his little performance. He denounced Tywin and labeled this plague of violence as the tantrums of an overly proud man demanding the release of his demon spawn or something like that. Most of the small folk still steered clear of him, but as the days pass, more slowly came around to his line of thinking.
The Laughing Prince's little following was growing strong and steadily. Some of them were living in the ruins of their villages nearby but most decided that it was safer in numbers and with this radical man and his band of armed followers promising justice and vengeance.
Time crawled along silently. The pale man whistling died down just as his torch dimmed to a faint feeble light; he heard the approach of footsteps.
From out of the dark small group of men, led by one of the pale outlaw's closest acolytes, Dwight. They came into the light, bearing a finely dressed man. The new prisoner was taller and looked lankier than the Lannister soldier. The blindfolded man was forced to kneel before the Laughing Prince.
Dwight tore off the blindfold and the man blinked furiously, eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight and darkness. When his eyes adjusted on the pale outlaw standing before him, terror invaded the man's countenance.
The Laughing Prince spoke, "Good evening! I am honored to have you grace my presence. From the looks of your crest, you are in the service of Lord Regenard Estren of House Estren or one of his sons, correct?"
The bound man nodded, terror written all over his face.
The pale outlaw studied the man and was satisfied to see that he wasn't badly hurt, save for a few cuts and bruises.
"I hope my friends didn't treat you too roughly" the pale man continued, "I would hate to see anything happen to you."
"Please!" cried the servant "Let me go. I-I don't have much but I'll give you anything! Please don't kill me!"
As he pleaded for his life, the Laughing Prince sighed deeply and made a gesture. Dwight stuffed a rag in the bound servant's mouth, choking off the prisoner's pleas for mercy.
The outlaw looked about him at his acolytes. Each of them were dressed in rough spun clothes and were of various ages and backgrounds but all of them had powdered or painted their faces until they were a ghostly white like their leader.
"Where you followed?"
"No," answered Dwight "This one went for a shit in the woods when we found him. After we grabbed him we covered our tracks well."
"What of his lord?"
"Drinking and whoring" answered another pale acolyte "No one will notice this one's absence for a while."
While the pale outlaw performed his 'duties' on the Lannister soldier, Dwight and a few other acolytes acted upon some information they had ruthlessly extracted from a few of their less fortunate prisoners and made a stealthy raid upon a Lannister camp and snatched up a servant of one of the lords tasked by House Lannister to lead the raiding parties in the Riverlands.
The outlaw had hoped for one of Clegane's men, but this one will do.
"Excellent!" the Laughing Prince commended.
The pale outlaw knelt down, meeting the servant's gaze. "Do you wish to live?" asked the Laughing Prince.
The frightened man nodded.
"Do you wish more than anything to live?"
More nodding.
"Would you do anything, and I mean anything, to earn the right to live a little longer?"
The servant nodded furiously, tears welling up in his eyes.
A sinister look crossed the outlaw's features that unsettled some of the acolytes.
"Oh my dear fellow…you and I are going to be good friends, I can tell," said the outlaw ominously as a gleeful smile formed on his face.
Jon and Sam found Victor in the common room, staring down at his bowl of stew blankly. The ranger was dressed like a brother of the Night's Watch once more, though his face was still a pale grey, giving him the look of a dead body.
Jon felt a little nervous around the man. After finding his cold, frost covered body near the grove of weirwood trees when they took their oaths and after Maester Aemon tended to him, everyone, including Jon, Sam and Leonard, were certain that Victor was dead.
However, a few nights before, Mick came across Victor wandering around the courtyard of Castle Black.
When questioned, the ranger told them that he awoke in the dead of night, in a room filled with corpses and was confused as to how he ended up back in Castle Black. Almost everyone at Castle Black was glad to see Victor up and about but they all kept a distance from the risen ranger.
The prevailing theory was that Victor must've slipped into a death like sleep because of the cold and when he was locked up in the Lord Commander's tower, the frozen ranger warmed up. Most chose to believe it, knowing how the cold can affect a man.
However, deep down, they all knew that Victor wasn't in a death like sleep. Victor was dead and he arose in the night and walked out of that locked room.
Speaking of the Lord Commander's tower, Ghost had sensed something was wrong the night Victor was discovered by Mick. The white direwolf led Jon to the tower where they encountered one of the bodies that were found with Victor in the forest, alive and had unnaturally blue eyes that seemed to glow in the faint lantern light. The frost encrusted corpse attacked Jon.
The steward fought him off but saw that no matter what he did, the body kept moving as if the wounds inflicted upon him had no effect. Jon ended up setting the tower ablaze, injuring his hand in the process but it alerted Lord Commander Mormont and destroyed the wight.
The following morning, the Lord Commander was furious about the fire but he was grateful that his steward was able to kill the wight. He also gave instructions to Jon and Sam to keep an eye on Victor and report anything strange to him.
Thus far, the miraculously resurrected ranger carried on like normal, tending to his duties at Castle Black like any other brother of the watch and showed up for duty on the Wall at night with Leonard or another man the Lord Commander had tasked specifically to keep an eye on Victor.
The only oddities that Jon saw were that Victor barely touched his food at meal times and that the ranger asked to stay out longer on his watch. He also seemed completely unaffected by the cold as well. There were a few instances where Jon or Sam saw Victor going about his day wearing less layers than most others.
When asked about it, Victor merely shrugged and said that he felt fine.
Leonard appeared at Sam's side, carrying a bowl of hot meat and broth and suggested that they join Victor and act casual, instead of standing around and gawking like children.
The two stewards nodded and the three went to join Victor.
As they got closer, Jon felt the warmth in the air of the common room wane as they drew closer to Victor, despite the roaring fire filling the large room with revitalizing warmth. Jon felt a light chill when they reached the table and drew his cloak around him.
"M-mind if we join you?" asked Sam.
The ranger looked up and blinked "Uh…of course."
Jon, Sam and Leonard sat.
Leonard started eating his stew while Jon and Sam lightly played around with their food, each awkwardly keeping an eye on Victor. Mick arrived and plopped down on the bench beside the pale ranger.
After a few long moments of awkward silence, Mick spoke through a mouthful of bread. "What's it like?" the burned man asked.
The ranger's long, grim face adopted a confused expression "What?"
"What's it like? Out there, beyond the wall, beyond the haunted forest."
"Oh," Victor said, understanding. "Well…its beautiful, though desolate. You're out there…far beyond civilization, beyond everything really. There's no one around for miles. Its quite beautiful but it is dangerous and very cold."
"What about Wildlings?" asked Leonard "Did you encounter any out there?"
Victor's blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully then shook his head. "Not that I remember. I remember that we came upon a few villages but they were all empty."
"Empty?" echoed Sam.
Victor nodded slowly "Yes…I remember that Benjen and some of the other rangers were coming upon empty Wildling camps and villages in the past. From the looks of things, the ones we came across were recently abandoned and in a hurry. It's sort of eerie. There were people there mere weeks before according to our reports."
"What happened to them?" asked Leonard.
Victor shrugged "I don't know. None of us knew for certain of where they were going or what had happened but there was one thing we knew for sure…something is coming…something terrible enough to make the Wildlings flee."
Silence fell upon the group. Sam looked a little nervous, while Jon and Leonard considered the ranger's words carefully and Mick was gnawing away at his heel of bread. A moment or so passed then Jon asked, "What happened out there? What happened to my uncle Benjen and the others?"
Victor thought for a moment then slowly shook his head "I…I'm not entirely sure. I remember that we set out from Castle Black. We were planning on passing through Craster's keep but decided against it. A day or so later we came across those empty villages. I remember sitting by the fire with Jafer Flowers and Othor, discussing with Benjen where we should go. We eventually came to agree on pressing northward towards the Frostfangs, following a trail left by some Wildlings. It got colder and colder, the nights grew longer and more lonesome…."
Jon noticed Victor gripping his cup tightly, his expression growing distant as if he were somewhere else.
"My memory is hazy but I certainly remember the cold…" Victor continued, "the cruel, unrelenting cold…seeping into my skin and chilling my heart. I remember shadows, all around us. Jafer was calling out and Othor screamed. I tumbled from my horse and looked for my weapon and I remember Benjen shouting something. After that I remember stumbling blindly through darkness and…nothing."
The ranger's grip on his cup eased and his attention returned to the common room and to his fellow crows. He sighed, "The next thing I remember is waking up in that room with Jafer and Othor's bodies. I got out of that room and found Mick. I wish I can remember more but…I'm sorry..."
Jon's felt his heart sink. Noticing the steward's expression, Victor apologized "I'm sorry, truly I am. I wish I can remember more but I just remember fragments and feelings. However, if its any consolation, I feel that Benjen may still be alive."
Mick grunted, "He's right. Benjen is a damn good ranger. If anyone can survive alone beyond the Wall, its Benjen Stark."
"Indeed" chimed Leonard "Besides, the Watch has friends beyond the Wall. Well…friends is a strong term but the point is that Benjen is probably alive and well somewhere and is trying to make his way back now."
Jon nodded, feeling a little bit of hope rising within him.
"Its good to have you back, Victor" Leonard said.
"Thank you, Leonard" said the ranger, grinning "Its good to be here. I never thought I would see the Wall nor Castle Black again. I'm glad to be back again."
The five sat about and talked in between mouthfuls until a man arrived saying that Maester Aemon wanted to see Victor. The ranger left, leaving his bowl of untouched food and cup of water behind.
Once the ranger was gone from the common room, Leonard looked to Mick. "He's hiding something," said the former thief
"I agree" said the burned man.
Jon gave Leonard a look "What do you mean?"
"I like to pride myself in knowing when someone is lying to me" said Leonard, tracing the inside of his half-empty bowl with his spoon "And I can say with certainty that Victor is hiding something."
"But what could he possibly be hiding?" asked Sam.
The former thief shook his head slowly "I don't know, but after what happened with Othor's frozen body getting up and attacking our dear bastard of Winterfell, I'm not taking any chances with any more of these 'miraculous' returns."
"Huh…" murmured Mick, who was studying the inside of Victor's cup closely.
"What is it?" asked Leonard.
Mick held up the cup and tipped it sideways. Jon expected water to pour out onto the table but he was surprised to see a solid block of ice, shaped like the inside of the wooden cup, land on the table's surface. Eerie silence filled the space between the crows.
The four brothers of the Night's Watch stared at the block of solid water then looked at each other, as if to discover an explanation from one another but each were just as speechless as the other.
Tyrion stood in the spacious hall, wearing fetters and anxiously awaiting the trial by combat to begin. Though he was a prisoner, the Lannister dwarf was left relatively alone. A guard lurked nearby but he didn't seem to be worried about the dwarf doing anything.
Lady Lysa didn't seem too worried either. The High Hall was abuzz with chatter and activity.
On the other side of the long, austere hall, close to the weirwood throne up on the balcony overlooking the hall, Tyrion could make out the form of Lady Lysa Arryn, dressed in the colors of House Arryn, holding court with a flock of her suitors who seem to hang on her every word.
The dwarf watched as the nobles of the Vale each tried to capture the attention of their Lady all the while dining on an assortment of fruits, lemon cake and cider. Tyrion felt his mouth water at the sight of food but he remained composed, not hinting what he was feeling at the moment. Sitting in the Sky cells had certainly weakened Tyrion and the food didn't help either, but it did give him time to think.
After speaking with the skinny young Maester of the Eyrie, Tyrion decided that he had to save himself.
The dwarf of Lannister had had his fill of being stuck in the cold, slanted Sky cells and the beatings he received from Mord. He wasn't strong enough or large enough to overpower Mord or fight his way out of the Eyrie, which meant he had to talk his way out. He knew that Lady Lysa was vain and was so desperate to pin this fraudulent crime on Tyrion that he knew that she would want to make a show of it before the entire Vale, all thanks to Maester Crane who all but confirmed it during their talk, through some off handed comments of the good Lady's sleepless nights and her paranoia.
He was a strange young man, Maester Crane, but Tyrion was glad for a bit of polite company to break up the monotony of lying in the cold cells and the pain of Mord's visits. When he announced that he was ready to confess, and enticing Mord with the promise of silver to secure an audience, Lysa Arryn summoned Tyrion to the High Hall and demanded to hear him confess his crime before the assembled court of the Vale.
Tyrion, irritated by the foul treatment he received in the Eyrie, made a joke of the proceedings until Lysa got mad and wanted to throw the dwarf into a smaller cell with a steeper floor. One thing led to another and Tyrion demanded trial by combat.
That earned a few laughs from the crowd and a few eager knights offered their services for their lady.
Tyrion, meanwhile, chose his brother the Kingslayer as his champion but Lysa reminded Tyrion that his brother was many miles away. Amongst the assorted nobles, servants and other guests of the Eyrie, Tyrion hoped someone would step forward to fight on his behalf. Fortunately, his prayer was answered in the form of the sellsword named Bronn.
The whole ordeal was set for the very next morning and Tyrion spent one last night in the Sky cell, contemplating whether it would be his last because his champion would win the duel or would it be his last because Bronn was going to lose and that Tyrion was going to be chucked through the infamous Moon Door.
The Lannister dwarf blinked, his mind snapping back to the present. He saw that Lady Catelyn had arrived at the High Hall with her uncle the Blackfish and a stoic looking bald man. Judging from the expression on Lady Stark's face, the situation beyond the Vale must be worse than anticipated.
If Tyrion was right, either Jaime or Tywin were stirring up trouble in the Riverlands or something more destructive right about now, probably in retaliation for his imprisonment.
The chatter and laughter died as Ser Vardis Egen, Lady Lysa's champion, arrived in the hall. Every inch of him was covered in plate save for the narrow slit in his helmet's visor and carried a kite shield bearing the sigil of House Arryn. The knight looked ready to fight, while Bronn on the other hand, was the opposite. The sellsword wore less protective clothing than his opponent. He was dressed in a tunic with ring mail over boiled leather and was carrying only his sword with him.
Tyrion felt a little nervous.
He had faith in the sellsword's abilities, having seen him in action on the road to the Eyrie, but the dwarf silently prayed that his champion knew what he was doing. Lady Lysa, her entourage, Lady Catelyn and the rest gathered and the septon called upon the gods to officiate over the fight and made a prayer over the two warriors.
"Looks to be an interesting fight," remarked a soft voice.
Tyrion looked up to his left and saw the bald man who entered the High Hall with Lady Catelyn. The man sat in a small chair, holding a lemon cake in one hand and a cup of cider in the other. From the aquiline face and piercing green eyes, the dwarf mistook him for one of Lady Lysa's sycophantic bannermen but upon closer inspection of the sigil on sewn into the breast of his tunic; he saw that the man was actually a lord from the Riverlands and a prominent one at that.
On the lord's green tunic was the golden eagle of House Luthor.
Though he wasn't very knowledgeable with families from the Riverlands, Tyrion was certainly familiar with that sigil. In fact, most people in the Seven Kingdoms have probably seen the eagle of House Luthor at least once in their lifetime.
House Luthor had a reputation for being an old and frugal family. If a list were a list comprised of only the wealthiest men in all of Westeros, Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish would be edging each other out for the top spot with Alexander Luthor resting comfortably in second place.
House Luthor amassed its wealth through trade over the many long years of its existence. Whenever there are goods being ferried up or down the Trident or whenever there is business being done in the region, the Luthors can be found nearby making a humble profit. They are staunch supporters of House Tully and have a castle a few miles down river from Riverrun, a modest looking keep of stone, vines and moss, which earned the keep the apt name of Mosswood Hall.
With Lord Hoster's health failing, most of his lordly duties were delegated to his son and brother, though the issue of commerce and enforcing the law more or less fell to House Luthor, due to their devotion to the ancient house and to the law.
The eagle on the man's tunic looked more intimidating than the fish of House Tully, with it majestically soaring through green while clutching a purple arrow in its talons, looking proud as if it weren't afraid of any predator that may be stalking close by.
"Yes, I suppose so," said Tyrion softly, trying not to disrupt the septon's prayers "I'm certainly hope that it will be entertaining at least. Should I die, than I'll die amused"
The man nodded slowly "Yes, though I believe the odds of you dying by sword or by flying will be quite slim. If I were a gambling man, I would wager that you would die at a much later time."
Tyrion frowned at the man. The emerald clad lord nodded towards Ser Vardis and Bronn. The half-man followed his gaze.
The septon had finished with his praying and had made a quick exit. Two servants tended to the two combatants, helping them make final preparations. The dwarf noticed the servant tending to Ser Vardis was presenting an ornate looking sword to the armored knight. He hesitated for a moment but after looking to his lady, who gave him an encouraging look, accepted the sword.
Tyrion's frown deepened as he watched the knight draw the sword. The sword was a fine piece of steel but the dwarf noticed that the blade was double edged. He watched as the knight weigh the sword in his hand, testing it a little and noticed that Ser Vardis looked almost visibly uncomfortable.
If Tyrion didn't know any better, the knight looked like he was having difficulty with his blade.
As the two combatants took their places, with Ser Vardis lowering the visor of his helmet and Bronn declining the one offered to him, Lord Luthor remarked "There are many parts to a battle and many things that can ensure victory or defeat. It only takes a single misstep to turn the tide either in your favor or against you. I have been in a few engagements where there had been such moments and I believe that this is one of those moments."
"Indeed" agreed Tyrion.
Lord Luthor, his mouth partially covered by his cup, murmured, "Ser Vardis is a good knight and a capable warrior but I fear that even a knight of his skill will have difficulty wielding a ceremonial blade."
Tyrion's eyebrows rose. He looked at the man. "Ceremonial?"
Luthor nodded "The blade was Jon Arryn's but he only used it on ceremonial occasions."
"Why would he fight with such a blade?" asked Tyrion. He knew that Lady Lysa was paranoid and bordering on hysterical, but he never thought her foolish.
A hint of a smile tugged at Luthor's lips "I believe, if I heard Lady Lysa correctly, that it would seem fit to have Ser Vardis avenge her husband with his blade."
Tyrion shrugged "I suppose it is poetic, a bit too dramatic, but what could've possessed her to do such a thing."
A full smile took shape on Luthor's face, his green eyes glimmering like jewels "I believe that a childhood friend and former confidant of hers may have proposed the idea."
Tyrion looked at the emerald clad lord in surprise. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would this…childhood friend suggest such a thing? He, or she, should know that Ser Vardis's chances of victory would plummet."
"True, it seems treacherous for a close friend to do such a thing. However, say that you had a friend…a friend you grew up with and cared for like a sibling. Now consider that you watched that friend descend into unfathomable depths of lunacy, sorrow and isolation, that said friend is now a liability, not only to their own well being but to everyone around them. Especially in the matters of current events that are occurring beyond his or her own dominion."
Tyrion frowned, half-listening to Luthor's words and half-watching the duel that unfolded before him. The silent hall had already filled with the sound of steel clashing against steel and a few cheering for Ser Vardis. Bronn was quick on his feet, gracefully dodging his opponent's swipes.
As the duel progressed, Tyrion noticed that Ser Vardis was growing winded with his movements growing slower. Young lord Robert complained about Bronn's evasive tactics and his mother assured him that the sellsword couldn't run all day. Tyrion agreed but he knew what the sellsword was doing and saw that it was working.
The dwarf glanced sideways at Luthor "This childhood friend you mentioned could get in a lot of trouble"
Luthor shrugged "Maybe, but with the Riverlands in flames, a pale lunatic gathering a sizable following and the peace of the realm in jeopardy, a bit of bad advice seems rather trivial in comparison."
"Could your friend not appeal to the crown?"
Luthor snorted, "While the Riverlands are drowning in blood and our dear lady of the Vale is playing games, our good king has croaked and they're too busy arresting alleged traitors and fretting about succession."
Tyrion blinked in surprise. Things were worse than he thought.
"I don't mean to insult your intelligence but it would seem the easiest solution would be to bend the knee, or convince the rest of the Riverlands to kneel and then maybe some semblance of order could be restored"
"True, but there is the matter of Ned Stark's imprisonment and his young pups."
"Right".
Luthor and Tyrion silently watched the rest of the match. Ser Vardis was losing though the assembled crowd cheered him on. Unfortunately, the fight was nearing its inevitable conclusion, one that the two nobles saw coming.
"I suppose that has always been their weakness, at least the weakness of all nobles" Luthor mused.
"What weakness?" asked Tyrion
"Frivolity" Luthor answered "Well…not really frivolity but…it just seems like a distraction, all this. It's not very practical, isn't it? All these complicated games, these protocols, wars and strife, all distractions, blinding them to the most important thing in this world."
"Oh?"
"Survival."
Tyrion cocked an eyebrow "Survival?"
Luthor nodded "That is something all children in House Luthor learn from a young age, do everything within your power to ensure your survival. No platitudes, no games, just protect that which is yours and survive in this cruel and unforgiving world."
Tyrion glanced sideways and saw that Luthor was looking right into his eyes. His face was hard and grim. "I care nothing for fealty or successions, I care only for three things: peace, my people and my profits. If a man were to hinder or cause any degree of harm to any of the three, I will do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of those three, even if I have to…negotiate with people outside of my usual company."
Tyrion felt his flesh crawl a little. The river lord's tone was sharp like steel and each word felt like a needle pricking his flesh.
Tyrion nodded in agreement "I agree."
A chorus of frustrated and anguished cries interrupted the two.
Tyrion looked and saw that Ser Vardis was gone and that Bronn was standing triumphant with a blood soaked blade. Lady Lysa looked mortified and young Robert Arryn was confused.
The dwarf blinked. That happened rather quickly. He looked to Luthor, who reclined in his chair, not at all saddened by what neither happened nor at all surprised.
Following the duel, there was a bit of tension. The assembled court of the Vale was crying out to kill Tyrion and Bronn for an apparent lack of honor during the fight and Lady Lysa looked inclined to do as they suggest.
Fortunately, the will of the gods was on Tyrion's side.
Lady Lysa had Tyrion freed from his shackles. Tyrion fulfilled his promise to Mord and gave him a purse full of silver coins.
As Bronn and Tyrion left the hall filled with angry nobles and courtiers, the dwarf noticed Luthor, who was now lingering near Lady Catelyn's side.
In the shadows behind him, was a pale young woman with muddy brown hair. She had a round face, dark eyes and was dressed in the colors of House Luthor.
Luthor's face, though smooth and emotionless, had the qualities of a fearsome predatory bird staring down an inferior specimen.
Tyrion knew that he was a minor river lord with a bit of gold and had done him a favor in exchange for one with a hint of a threat for good measure.
Normally such a thing would be replied with a shrug or a retaliatory threat but deep down the dwarf knew that there was more to Luthor than what his exchange had provided him. The bald man could either be a valuable ally or a dangerous threat.
Tyrion hoped to make good on his debt to the riverlord and hopefully save the realm from this mess that his family has created.
End of Chapter
(a/n: Again, sorry for the wait. I hoped you enjoyed this. DC characters appearing in this chapter: The Joker, Heatwave, Captain Cold, Lex Luthor, Mr. Freeze and Mercy Graves. Until next time!)