The lost friend
The day was hot and sticky, as all the days were in Essos. A ferocious southern sun beat down upon them, but heat was the last and least of Asher's concerns. The Company of the Rose was encamped three miles south of town, well north of where he had expected them. His home remained a world away, and so did his friend ... well, away from him and surrounded by enemies. If the gods were good, the rumors he'd heard would be very true, but Asher knew that it was more like Winterfell standing alone against the might of the dragons.
"Where is Hunt?" Asher asked Barton, a young man no older than twenty with red hair and a russet beard. "How long should it take to buy three horses?" He had known Barton for more than five years. They had grown up together in the company of men and women who had left their homes in order to stay free. They had fought together, bled together and learned together along with the other young men in the company.
Edgar shrugged from the top of the rock where he was perched upon. "Asher, is this a good idea? A safe one? We are not a part of the company anymore. You know that as well as I do."
"It may not be safer, yes," Asher told the heir of Barrowton. "But we still belong in the company." Unlike most of them here in the Company of the Rose, Edgar was born as the firstborn son and heir of Lord William Dustin and his lady wife Barbrey and stood to inherit Barrowton after his father but the boy had followed Asher into exile, both no older than thirteen in this new part of the world. Lord Dustin had sent his uncle Bill not to bring the boy back to him but to keep him safe away from Westeros.
Asher himself had been a reckless and a stupid boy who could not keep his mouth shut. He had been so worth the day Jon Connington came to Ironrath to hear his father swear fealty to the Targaryen king. Their true king and queen had been murdered through treachery and the dragon had the gall to come to them after that. Young and reckless as he was, Asher had shouted words which would've cost his head if not for his father. His father had sent him away with his uncle to Essos in an exile to keep him away from the Targaryens' grasp. He had lost them in the sea and ended up in Braavos all alone. It had taken four years for him to find them again but those years had made him harder, better and smarter. Those years had given him hope and a chance to see that there was hope after all. Not a day had passed without Asher wanting to fight for justice, for his friend and king. The day might come soon though, if everything he had planned for today came to fruition.
"We have gone to great lengths to get them to fight all these years," Owen reminded him. "This is not working, don't you see. That's why we came away from them remember?"
"True," Asher admitted. "But I have something worth fighting for this time. Something I did not have the last time or the time before that."
"And what is that?" Owen asked. "It has been two years since we last rode with the Company, and Redrain is dead. If it had been Rickard you would have an easy time convincing them to fight."
Redrain. Rickard Flint had been so full of life the last time Asher and his company of six had left him. He had been a good man, with a sure sword and an easy smile, it was hard to accept that he was gone. A true warrior at their head, Rickard had not gotten the name Redrain for no reason. Asher had tried his best to convince him to return to Westeros and fight for justice but Redrain had always denied him with a soft, sad smile. 'What reason is left there to fight for a lost cause?' he would say. If ony he was alive now, Asher could have given him the reason and made him set course to Westeros. He wondered who had taken the command of the company now. Bill Dustin seemed to be the perfect option. His prowess with his axe was famed all throughout Essos and the Free Cities together. Bill was a capable commander... and Edgar's uncle. He would have an easy time convincing him to turn home and to his friend.
Last night he'd dreamt of Braavos again. Alone, with another boy as the only company, younger than him but much nobler. They had run together, through the different streets, house to house, racing up stairs, leaping across canals and boats, played together, as his ears rang to the sound of distant drums. Deep harsh banging and the swish of oars on water, a maddening cacophony of noise that grew ever louder until it seemed as if his head would explode.
Four years had come and gone since the day he had lost his friend, yet the sound of drums booming still tied a knot in his guts. Others might claim that their war was lost when King Eddard was dead, but the wolf had left his pup in this world so that they could be avenged. Asher had not only lost his friend that day, he had lost the hope of the entire north. If only he had brought him to the Company of the Rose he had found in Essos, justice could've been won for the King and the Queen, for every true man and honest woman who had died that day in the name of King Eddard and Queen Ashara.
"Even if we go there with this thing again, who knows if the new commander would be willing to fight," Barton was saying.
"They should. The men should yearn to return home."
"You could not expect that, Asher," Denys Snow said. "They have stayed here for years now."
"I have the reason to make them come home." Asher slapped the hilt of his long-sword with a gloved hand. "This isn't how it's supposed to end. You all followed me because everyone believed that I knew something, didn't you? And what I know is that this is going to work."
"Asher, " Edgar called loudly, above the rush of the water nearby. "It's Hunt and Roger."
So it was. Hunt looked hot and bedraggled as he made his way along the waterfront to the foot of the pier. Heat had left his face wet with sweat and red. He had the same sour look on his long face as at everytime he was sent venturing under the sun. Roger looked no better than him as well, but they were leading three horses, however, and that was all that mattered.
"Don't ever sending me out riding under the fucking Essosi sun," Ethan Hunt said, dismounting his horse briskly.
"Took you long enough," Asher asked them.
"Easy for you to say," Roger answered. "You were not the one out in the burning sun."
"Stop whining," Edgar dropped down from the rock. "As you can see we were out in the open too."
"Yeah, hear that," Barton said. "See any tent above our heads? It's just the same sun."
Hunt's horses did not please him. "Were these the best that you could find?" he complained to the knight. Ethan had been the second son of some knight in the south but that had been in the past though. They had three good horses won at pit fighting, all won from the dothraki screamers who had braids reaching their arse, but for the rest they had to turn to trade though.
"They were," said Hunt, in an irritated tone, "and you had best not ask what they cost us. Unless you wish to wait to find some dothraki for us to kill, this is what we got."
"My grandfather's guards have better horses than these," Edgar said inspecting the horses.
"That's because, Edgar," Roger said, "we are not in Westeros and no one in Essos knows how to breed fine horses like the Ryswells."
They would do, thought Asher. We're not riding into battle after all, just a ride to meet old friends. After Essos when he and his friends left the company to find Andrew, he had found it difficult to put the same trust in them as previously. If only he had brought him to them, this whole thing would've been done more quickly and easily. Almost all the men and women in the Company of the Rose knew King Eddard firsthand and likely not forget him till their end. It was during his days the Company of the Rose returned home to the north after nearly three hundred years of exile, ever since the days of King Torrhen Stark, the king who knelt, submitted his crown to Aegon the Conqueror. Only when King Eddard won the north's freedom from Rhaegar Targaryen, did the exiled northerners returned home to kneel again only to a King in the North. If only I had showed them what they were fighting for... If only I could convince them to turn west, I could get them to see it.
"They will do well enough, I suppose," he told Roger. "The camp is only three miles south."
"I still don't like the sound of this," Roger said. "But I think it's no high treason in trying it once more."
"Let's just hope this will be the last time," Asher replied. It might have been different if Redrain still commanded, but Rodrick Flint was four years dead, and he didn't knew whom he was dealing with this time. He would not say that to his friends, however.
He took a big grey gelding for himself, so pale that he was almost white. Edgar and Owen took the other two and all seven set forth together. The road ran south beneath the high white walls of Valaar Hargos for a good half mile. Then they left the town behind, following the winding course of the Rhoyne through willow groves and poppy fields and past a tall wooden windmill whose blades creaked like old bones as they turned. They found the Company of the Rose beside the river as the sun was lowering in the west. It was a camp that even Arthur Dayne might have approved of - compact, orderly, defensible. A deep ditch had been dug around it, with sharpened stakes inside. The tents stood in rows, with broad avenues between them. The latrines had been placed beside the river, so the current would wash away the wastes. The horse lines were to the north. Tall battle standards of white cloth with the violet rose in the middle flapped atop lofty poles along the perimeters of the camp. It had been a blue winter rose the sigil of the Company of Rose from the time of Brandon Snow but the company had taken the violet rose in respect for the new Queen, Ashara Dayne. Beneath them, armed and armored sentries walked their rounds with spears and crossbows, watching every approach. Asher had feared that the company might have grown lax after Redrain. Lack of leadership would make even a pride of lions turn into a fleet of sheep; but it would seem his worries had been misplaced. At the gate, Owen said something to the serjeant of guards, and a runner was sent off to find a captain. When he turned up, he was just as ugly as the last time Asher laid eyes on him. A long-limbed, lanky hunk of a man, the sellsword had a seamed face with a big old crude scar which started from the right eyebrow and ended at left chin. Whatever charms he might've had in the past were long gone with that hideous scar. "Have they made you a captain, Jon?" Asher asked. "I thought the Company of Rose had standards."
"It's worse than that, lucky charms," said Jon Locke. "You guys look surprisingly well enough, again." He clasped Asher by the forearm, pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "When Bill said you'd be turning up, I almost shit myself. And Owen, you wench fucker, good to see you too. Still have that pretty face to hurt women." He turned to the others and greeted them all, one by one.
"I need to meet the captain-general."
"Aye. About that." Locke waved them through the gate. "Come with me. We don't have a captain is the truth of it. All the officers are in Redrain's tent. War council or another one of those voting ceremony. The bloody Volantenes are rattling their spears and demanding to know our intentions."
The men of the Company of Rose were outside their tents, dicing, drinking, and swatting away flies. Asher wondered how many of them knew who he was. There were new men and women who he did not know. Two years is a long time. Even the men who'd ridden with him might not easily recognize the smooth faced exile lordling Asher Forrester with the rough, light brown beard.
The captain-general's tent was made of white cloth and surrounded by a ring of pikes all bearing the violet roses of the queen.
"Wait here," Locke said. "I'll go tell them of your arrival."
He stood there watching the violet roses swaying in the wind. He could only wish that they still held queen Ashara in high esteem and not just bearing her roses in the banners
Jon stepped out of the tent. "Go on in."
The high officers of the Company of Rose rose from stools and camp chairs as they entered. Old friends and family greeted Asher and the others with smiles and embraces, the new men more formally.
Jon Locke did the introductions. Some of the sellsword captains bore bastard names, as Denys did: Snow, Rivers, Stone. Others claimed names that we're still very much respected in the Seven Kingdoms; Asher counted two Umbers, three Ryswells, a Mormont, a Manderly with his green beard, a pair of Norreys from the mountains. Not every captain was of Westerosi blood. Timoth, a beared norvoshi, sat with his big, long axe, as in Redrain's day. And there were fair share of others from other areas as well.
Ghosts and exiles, Asher thought, as he surveyed their faces. Like me. Descendants of people who had chosen exile in favor of freedom rather than submitting to a foreign king. This is my army. This is our best hope.
He turned to Bill Dustin who was surrounded by all the other captains of the company.
Even in the winter of his life, Bill 'Kill' Dustin looked everybit like the warrior he had been in his youth. Tall, with big wide chest, mild grey eyes, and uncombed long white beard, Bill sat in a camp chair straight as a spear. "Asher, you're back," he said by way of greeting. "I hope that you brought my grand nephew back safe."
"We are all here, my lord."
It's him I have to turn the mind of. No one would dare oppose 'Kill' Bill. Turn him around and the others would follow soon enough.
"I came here to discuss an important matter," Asher told them, "you all should hear it."
"Very well, then." Asher's uncle spoke. "Speak what you will. Do you need any refreshments? Wine, perhaps?"
"Thank you, Uncle, but no," said Asher. "Water will suffice."
"As you prefer." Malcolm Branfield smiled up at the him. "Are you here to talk about Westeros again, nephew?"
Does they already know of the rumors? Asher wondered. How much did they know? He had heard them well enough and it is possible that they had heard them too. But do they believe it as I do? Looking at them he could not help but think that they did not believe them even if they'd heard. He could not fault them for it though, they had not seen him as he had.
That time was done, though. "Yes and I mean it this time," Asher said. "My lords, the time for us to return home had come at last."
Silence greeted his announcement. Someone cleared his throat. One of the Umbers refilled his wine cup from the flagon. Manderly and Mormont exchanged a glance. They know, Asher realized then. They have always known that I'll be coming only for that. He turned to look at his uncle. "This is not our place, uncle."
His uncle scratched his chin. "You know that we can't go back there, Asher. They'll hunt you down for treason and all of us for being loyal to the Starks."
"We have turned away rich contracts in favor of your word, boy," Bill Dustin said, "We've melted off in this heat and our blades go to rust. You better have a good reason for having us do so."
"You will have work for your blades soon enough."
"Will we?" asked Reyna Longbraid, tugging her long brown braid with one hand and a throwing axe in her other. "I assume you know that the Targaryen has a newfound marriage alliance with Dorne."
"We heard that tale in Volantis."
"No tale. Simple truth. That's why it is harder to grasp," Finnick said, an orphan boy turned captain. "We can't stand against them, Asher. Rhaegar has the Tyrells, his master friends from east and now Dorne and what do we have, some eight thousand swords? The Fat flower of Highgarden himself out numbers us ten to one."
"And dragons," added Ragnar.
"It does no good to fight for a lost cause, Asher," his uncle said again. "Even Redrain knew the truth of it."
"We had a king and queen who brought us home to Westeros, but the Targaryen rules the north now along with his six other kingdoms," Bortrop Snow said. "We've been following Brandon Snow's ways and choose to be free rather than bending the knee to the dragon.
"Even if we manage to rouse up the north," Bill Dustin said, "how much will it avail us when all the six kingdoms close around us like a fist?"
Edgar stepped forward to face his great-uncle. "Not all of them are loyal to Rhaegar Targaryen. Surely King Eddard had friends in the south and is-"
"Dead," Kill Bill finished for him. "None of us are Ned Stark and not all of us could be."
"You're right," Asher spoke then. "Not all of us can be King Eddard," he said, "but I know someone who can."
"Who are you talking about?" his uncle asked.
"Someone who have the right blood, the right flesh and the right prowess that Ned Stark had," he insisted. "Someone with Ned Stark's own blood running through his veins. You asked me for a reason to fight for and a King, well, I have both of them for you now."
The captains looked as if someone had slapped their faces. "Has the sun curdled your brains, Asher?" Bill Dustin said. "Ned Stark is dead if you mean to fight for him. Unless you have some sort of dark magic to bring the dead back to life, it is never possible. And Ben Stark is at the Wall, a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Do you mean to bring him back from the Wall and have him break all of his oaths and honor?"
"No, not Eddard or Benjen for that matter," Asher told them. "The Quiet Wolf may be dead with his she-wolf but not their pup. You asked me for a king and there is your king in Winterfell. Andrew Stark, the son and heir of King Eddard, your king, my king, our king. He is out there fighting for the north and his father's house all alone and honor would have us to fight along with him, isn't it?"
He turned around to look at all the faces in the tent. "Didn't you all swear fealty to King Eddard? Are we not wearing Queen Ashara's violet rose in our banners as a homage to the benevolent queen? Their own son is fighting a war on his own and every moment we stay here waiting for a reason is disgrace to the oaths we swore to Eddard Stark and a shame to Ashara Dayne's roses."
"Ned's son?" Bill Dustin asked surprised.
"The boy was said to be dead along with his parents," Reyna said. "How do you say that he is alive?"
"You don't have to take my word for it," Asher told them. "Come to Westeros and see him with your own eyes."
"He's not wrong," said his uncle. "By now the dragon would surely have the wolf's scent, but Rhaegar's attentions will be fixed upon his son's marriage and his alliance. He would not even remember a thing of our prince. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us. Baratheon, Arryn, Tully, His Grace had friends in the south."
"Might be," allowed Reyna, "or not. They were Ned Stark's friends. Who could say that they will fight for his son?"
"Why should we care about them?" asked Asher. "They might join us or not. Our King is fighting a war right now, isn't that alone enough for us to go help him. Look! Look around you," Asher pointed to the banners around them. "That purple rose is there for a reason. Our name, our oath, our honor is there for a reason. We chose to be free in exile rather than be a captive in home. We know no king but the King in the North whose name is a Stark. We didn't just go through everything we went through for no reason at all, to just have it end like this. There is a reason that we are here, and if that reason is to die for our king then we will do it with pride, fighting for him."
"I have had enough of balking plans and shadowy reasons," Bill Dustin said. "Eddard Stark won his freedom from the Targaryens without any help. If he can, why not his son."
"Even if we are wrong," his uncle said, "at least we won't die alone away from our home and our king."
"That's so," Gilden Norrey said, "Aye."
"Asher Forrester," said Kill Bill and laid his axe at his feat, "we are your men. Is this your wish, that we sail west to meet your Stark king?"
For a moment he could not believe what was happening. There were people in that tent who had been fighting in wars even before Asher had seen the light of the world, yet they all looked at him to lead them, including all those battle hardened men.
"It is," he said at last.
Almost everyone in the tent was smiling in approval. When all of them began to speak at once, Asher knew the tide had turned.
He had waited so long for this day, surely the gods would grant him another chance to meet his friend, another chance to help the boy he'd called as friend to get justice for his parents' murders, another chance to serve his king as his own father had served Andrew's father.