Ugh. In total, I've written nearly 14,000 words of notes for this chapter. And the finished chapter is barely more than half that long. Maybe I've been overdoing it…
Thanks to Raiseth (on SV) and Volossya (on AO3) for beta-reading this chapter for me. Also, thanks to Flashkannon (on SV) for helping with some last minute editing. Much obliged!
The Longest Day
Riding as quickly as she dared, Katarina made her way back to Hartshorne in only a few minutes, but by then her horse was already beginning to tire. Her squat, placid pony, which she loved very much and had named 'Visenya', after the Targaryen warrior queen, was not accustomed to fast movement or long-distance travel.
My fault, Katarina realized, with a sinking heart. She was beginning to suspect that her grand plan – to travel halfway across the country to find a light mage who could save Sienna – had been doomed from the start.
When her father had first given Visenya to her as a birthday gift, she had wanted to ride as often as possible: for at least a couple of hours each day. However, in the years since she and her friends had visited Maggy the Frog and been cursed, she had ridden hardly at all, because she hadn't wanted to leave Sienna's side for longer than a few minutes at a time; and so, she had neglected Visenya and left her to grow fat and lazy.
If I go home immediately, it won't matter, she thought. Even if I have to walk home on foot, I'll get there in about an hour, so long as I don't run into those kidnappers again. But if she did that, she would be abandoning Sienna to her fate. Her parents would want to keep her safe, which would undoubtedly mean that they would lock her away somewhere they could keep a careful watch over her; they definitely wouldn't allow her to go running off on her own in pursuit of a dream.
By the time she reached the town, Visenya had already slowed to a trot. As they entered the crowded main street, passing by the shops and market stalls, Katarina permitted her to slow down even further, until she was merely plodding along. It was clear that she wanted to stop, to rest and take a drink, but Katarina was reluctant to allow her to do so. The longer she stayed in Hartshorne, the more danger she would be in. Soon, the kidnappers would catch up with her. Alternatively, she would be an easy target for any of their accomplices whom they'd left behind in the town.
And so, she maintained a slow walking pace, which at least meant that Visenya could catch her breath to an extent. And it gave her plenty of time to think. She began by racking her brains in an attempt to retrieve every last scrap of horse-related information the Claes family stablemaster had ever shared with her, which wasn't much. She lamented the fact that she hadn't been a more attentive pupil, but… oh well, it was too late to do anything about that now.
From what little she could remember, she was fairly sure that a fit and healthy horse should be able to walk at a comfortably slow pace for about eight hours, which would carry it over a distance of barely more than thirty miles. A similarly fit and healthy human traveling on foot could walk just as fast and for a longer period of time; and then, after taking some time to rest and eat, they could keep going, provided they were determined enough. Horses couldn't do that.
Actually, Katarina wasn't sure if that was entirely true or if the stablemaster had told her a convenient lie so that she wouldn't be in danger of causing her horses any permanent harm by pushing them further than they could endure. Whatever the case, for Visenya's sake, and because an exhausted and injured horse would be worse than useless to her, she would follow his advice.
The great advantage of horses was that they could cover the same distance in a much shorter period of time, provided they were given plenty of rest. The faster they traveled, the sooner they would need to rest and the more rest they would need.
Most horses could move at full gallop for only a couple of minutes, during which they would run about a mile. Afterwards, they would need a substantial amount of rest, which would take several hours at least. Alternatively, they could canter or trot for a much longer period of time, at a far slower speed, over what might end up being a greater distance, but they would still need plenty of rest and to move cautiously over steep slopes or heavily rutted roads.
Katarina estimated that if she were to follow the path the Old Gods had laid out for her, which would take her over a hundred miles and through the mountains that bordered the Vale of Arryn, she would need to change horses at least three times. First, she would need to replace Visenya as soon as possible; the sedate little pony was having a very bad day and wouldn't be able to carry on for much longer. The next horse, wherever she got it from, would transport her slightly more than thirty miles before she had to find a replacement, as would the one after that. The third replacement horse would have to travel a similar distance over more difficult terrain, which would take longer and require her to be very careful. It would be better if she could find a fourth replacement horse to share some of the hardship, but she had no idea where she might get one from, unless the guards at the Bloody Gate took pity on her. Of course, by then, it was likely that she'd be too exhausted to take much care; after such a long and grueling day, she could easily fall off a ledge or tumble down a ravine. And that would be a silly, tragic end to everything she'd hoped to do with her life.
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that this was a foolish plan that would probably get her killed. Nevertheless, she still wanted to try, for Sienna's sake.
I'm not abandoning Anne, she insisted. Her thoughts were an onrushing cascade of reasons and justifications for what she was about to do: She recognized one of the kidnappers as a man who works for her father, so… Lord Sherry must be the one behind the kidnapping! He's planning to marry her off to Walder Frey! But… even if he plans to do that as soon as possible, there's no way he could know how soon his henchmen would manage to kidnap her and bring her back to him. And so, I'd imagine that it'll take him and his co-conspirators at least a few weeks to get everything ready, transport her to wherever the wedding is supposed to take place, send out invitations to the guests – especially the Frey bannermen who'd be affronted if they didn't get invited to their overlord's latest nuptials – all of which should give plenty of time for me to travel to the Vale of Arryn, find the light mage, bring her back to save Sienna, inform my parents of how Anne was kidnapped, and organize a rescue mission.
It was clear in her mind that Sienna was in more immediate danger and would have to come first. She would be dead of dehydration within a couple of days if not for the healing powers of the light mage whom Katarina was determined to bring back to her. In the meantime, Anne was undergoing a traumatic and terrifying experience, but at least her captors would keep her alive, uninjured, and relatively well-fed. She was a prize they would want to hand over to their master in as intact a state as possible, in the hope that he would reward them generously. If she was hurt, she would be less valuable to them, especially if it meant that she wouldn't be presentable in time for her wedding. For that reason, they would want to take good care of her. Therefore, Katarina would have plenty of time to save her, or arrange for her to be saved, before the worst could happen. There's no need to fret. It'll be fine. I have plenty of time!
While she was expending so much effort in justifying herself in this manner, Katarina barely paused to gather breath. In a state of giddy over-excitement, she was afraid she was about to topple sideways out of her seat. While the world was spinning around her, she could do little but gasp for air, hold tightly to her horse's reins, and lean over the pommel of her saddle, clinging to it as if it were an island of stability in the midst of a sea of chaos.
A few moments later, when she had recovered somewhat, she blinked a few times, scraped a hand over her eyes, and muttered, "Whew. Not a good start."
"Are you alright there, miss?" asked one of the locals. He was a burly, thickset man who was trudging towards her with a look of concern on his ruddy, clean-shaven face.
"I'm fine," she blurted out, reflexively. As she did so, she wondered if she'd made a mistake. Should she have told him the truth instead? If he knew that she was Lady Katarina Claes, that she and her entourage had been attacked by a gang of men who'd been waiting for them in the forest, and that she was the only one who'd managed to escape after her guards had been slain and her maid had been kidnapped, would he be a help or hindrance to her? If he agreed to share what she told him with the other townsfolk, it would ensure that when her parents came looking for her they'd hear the rumors and find out exactly what had happened, which would put her mind at ease, but… no, she couldn't take that chance. Perhaps she was being overly paranoid, but she didn't dare take the risk that he was one of the kidnappers' accomplices or that, out of honest concern for her, he might try to prevent her from leaving. And so, she hesitated and said no more.
"I just thought you looked a little faint," he said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "But if you're fine, I won't be a bother. Good day to you."
"Thank you," she said, smiling at him. "Your question was kindly meant and I… uh, I thank you."
Recognition dawned in his eyes. Although she was wearing plain riding leathers, no makeup, and no jewelry other than her necklace of weirwood beads, he seemed to recognize that she was a member of the nobility, probably because her accent had been carefully cultivated in more elocution lessons than she could remember. "No problem, milady," he said, tipping his hat to her and slowly backing away.
Katarina knew it would be a problem later on in her journey if the people she spoke to along the way – and, more importantly, tried to exchange horses with – realized that she was a noblewoman. She feared that it would attract too much attention and, thereafter, well-meaning busybodies would insist on escorting her back home; or villainous opportunists would try to take her prisoner, in the hope that she was worth a ransom. Either way, she would be prevented from completing her quest. To avoid that, she would speak as little as possible; if she tried to put on a fake accent, it might attract even more attention, which would be counterproductive.
And so, without speaking to anyone else, she urged Visenya onwards until they were out of town and on the road that led north, towards her eventual destination. She had the glimmerings of a plan in mind. First, she would go to the old keep belonging to Sir Rennifer Roebuck, a landed knight who was one of her father's bannermen. On a fine day like this, Sir Rennifer would likely be out hunting or hawking, or engaged in some other outdoor pursuits, and so she would instead impress some of his servants – his stablemaster, stableboys, and so on – with the true and sorry tale of what had happened to her. She would tell them the truth of who she was and ask for the loan of a replacement horse, but deceive them into thinking that she'd only use it to get back home. Then, with tears in her eyes, she would beg them to take care of Visenya and slip them a couple of silver stags 'for their trouble'. Shocked by her tale of murderous kidnappers, they would go along with whatever she said and wouldn't take the time to think carefully about what they ought to be doing. At least, that is what she hoped they would do. Otherwise, she might be in trouble.
Centuries ago, the Roebuck family had branched off from House Buckwell, formerly one of the most powerful and influential noble families of the Crownlands. However, in recent decades, the Buckwells had been greatly diminished. During the Civil War and its aftermath, they made many poor decisions, which led to their impoverishment, the deaths of several of their family members, and King Robert's decision to punish them further by stripping them of many of their lands and vassals. These, he divided up between his loyal supporters, the Claes family in particular. For that reason, Sir Rennifer Roebuck was now sworn to serve Duke Luigi Claes. He was one of her father's bannermen whom Katarina had never met, so she didn't know how reliable he was.
While she had little else to do but ride along the road and gaze at the surrounding countryside, Katarina spent some time speculating as to whether Sir Rennifer Roebuck was a paragon of loyalty and faithfulness, a resentful schemer who was secretly plotting against his liege, or something in between. Perhaps he secretly despised her family, viewing them as upstarts who hadn't deserved to be raised to high nobility ahead of many others with far more distinguished lineages. In which case, if he saw her alone and unprotected, he might try to take her as a hostage. On the other hand, if he was eager to curry favor with her father, he might insist on personally escorting her back home to her family. If he so chose, he could be an insurmountable obstacle blocking Katarina's path; therefore, she was determined to avoid him if at all possible.
Before long, the gray square bulk of Roebuck Keep became visible on one of the nearby hillsides. After that, it took another half hour to reach it, by which time Katarina's thigh muscles were beginning to feel rather stretched. Knowing that she still had a full day's riding ahead of her, she was determined to grit her teeth and ignore the discomfort, but she couldn't help but wonder how much worse it would be by the time she reached the Vale of Arryn.
Instead of approaching the main keep, which up close was a dilapidated structure that had clearly seen better days, she headed straight for the stables. It was a gloomy old building with a thatched roof in some disrepair; there was a familiar smell of dung, which the stableboys were busy shoveling out. Overseeing them was a bald-headed man who appeared to be perspiring rather more than was normal for such a mild day; he must be the stablemaster, or so she assumed.
"Please, sir! Please help me!" she cried, dismounting from Visenya and putting on a show of tearfulness. "I am in need of your assistance!"
"Well, I… uh, I don't know what help I can be," he said, blinking at her. "Who… who are you?"
"I'm Lady Katarina Claes, the daughter of Duke Luigi Claes! I was attacked by bandits who killed my bodyguards and kidnapped my maid!"
"Ah. That's…" The man gaped at her like a surprised fish. Not knowing how else to respond, he resorted to polite platitudes: "I'm sorry to hear that, milady. If there's anything I can do–"
"Yes!" Katarina eagerly seized the chance he'd unwittingly offered her. "I need a fresh horse so I can get back home and tell my parents what happened!"
"Oh, I… I'm sure my master will let you borrow one," said the stablemaster. "Just ask him."
"Where is he?" asked Katarina. At the same time, under her breath, she prayed to the Old Gods – who had been very generous to her so far – that he wouldn't be somewhere within easy reach.
"Out hunting with some of his friends. He'll be back soon, I expect."
"How long will that take?"
"A couple of hours, maybe," said the stablemaster, glancing around for help. There was none to be found: the stableboys were watching with amusement, but didn't seem inclined to intervene.
"I'm not waiting here for a couple of hours!" Katarina exploded at him. "Who knows what torments the bandits will subject my maid to during that time." Fresh tears trickled down her face. "My dear, sweet Anne, who has looked after me since I was a little girl, who is like an older sister to me…"
"Please don't cry! I'll do what I can… uh, I'm sure it'll be alright if I let you borrow a horse… uh, right now, before my master gets back," said the stablemaster, desperate to stem the tide. "I mean, your father is his liege lord, right?"
Katarina gave a feeble nod, but had to suppress a victorious smile. "If Sir Rennifer objects to my borrowing one of his horses, he can take it up with my father, who I'm sure will be willing to provide appropriate compensation." Indicating Visenya, who was taking this opportunity to snack on some of the hay that had been left lying around, she said, "I'll leave my horse with you. She'll need to be fed and cared for while I am gone. With any luck, I will be back for her – or send someone to fetch her – fairly soon. In the meantime, here's a little something for your trouble." She handed him two silver stags.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly!" he protested, but made no move to give the money back to her.
"I need to get back home as quickly as possible," said Katarina. "Which horse may I borrow?"
"I'll get one ready for you," the stablemaster promised. "It'll need to be brushed and rubbed down – and so will your horse, actually – and fitted with tack and so on. You know how it is."
"I'm not sure I do. How long will that take?"
The stablemaster waved his hand in a vague gesture that could have meant anything, quailed under Katarina's glare, and changed what he'd been about to say to, "Soon! Very soon!"
Katarina had little choice but to take him at his word.
Sometime later – much less than an hour, for which she was thankful – Katarina was on the road again, on a fresh horse. Her plan was to head for the Kingsroad, pass herself off as one of the many messengers who traveled back and forth along that road, and follow it north until she reached Darry and then the Inn at the Crossroads. Thereafter, she would take the High Road to the Bloody Gate and through the Mountains of the Moon until she reached the Vale of Arryn and then her destination.
Although the Maesters of the Citadel had trained ravens to carry messages between certain key locations, which could be spaced hundreds of miles apart, there weren't enough of them to carry the thousands of messages that were sent all over the kingdom every day, so they were held in reserve for high priority messages to and from the most important people. For that reason, there was still plenty of work available for earthbound, human messengers. If anyone asked, Katarina would say she was one of them. She could only hope that she wouldn't be treated badly or with suspicion because she was a girl – or because all of the other messengers had never met her before – and that they would allow her to use their waystations to change horses whenever her current mount grew too tired to continue.
By the time she reached the Kingsroad, it was past noon. Katarina worried that the morning's adventures had wasted too much time; by the time she reached the Vale of Arryn, night would have fallen, even if everything went as planned. Still, there was nothing she could do about that other than carry on doggedly, as she had before.
The horse loaned to her by Sir Rennifer Roebuck's stablemaster was a placid, patient animal, for which she was thankful. It responded to her commands easily enough and showed no signs of hostility or unwillingness when she spurred it on faster, which she hoped would enable her to make up some of the time she had lost. However, on occasion, she had to allow it to stop to rest, or slow down to a mere walk, to avoid pushing it until it was exhausted and unable to go on. Under most circumstances, the fact that it was so obliging would be a blessing, but not if she became complacent and thereby caused it to injure itself. Keeping that in mind, she forced herself to go at a steady pace and to take regular breaks.
As she rode, she saw the occasional passing traveler, a few carts trundling along, and a serious-looking man on a fast horse, whom she suspected was a real messenger carrying an important missive, exactly like she was pretending to be. He paid no attention to her and she made no attempt to hail him. Instead, she focused on the journey, on the road before her, and on the miles that were slowly passing by.
After a couple of hours' hard riding, she reached one of the messenger waystations and knew that she would have to change horses again. The horse she had borrowed from Sir Rennifer Roebuck's stable had served her well, but it was visibly tiring and she doubted that she'd be able to push it much further that day. Also, she hadn't had anything to eat or drink since early that morning; she felt that it would be wise to stop for some replenishment.
The waystation consisted of a set of stables, an eatery, and a dormitory in which weary messengers could stay overnight. A small village had sprung up around it, presumably so that its staff and their families had somewhere to live and so that their needs were catered for.
Katarina entered the stables, approached a member of staff, and asked to replace her tired mount with a fresh one.
"Funny thing. You don't look Dornish," said the man she'd spoken to, looking her up and down. He was a burly, black-bearded man with a crooked smile that made Katarina feel vaguely apprehensive.
"I beg your pardon?" she replied. A moment later, she winced, remembering her earlier resolution to talk as little as possible in the hope that the people she had to speak to wouldn't realize that she was a noble.
"I heard a Dornish woman had joined the messenger service recently," he explained. "I thought you might be her, but I guess not. Shame."
With an effort of will, Katarina restrained herself from asking why it was a shame that she wasn't Dornish. She was aware that Dorne was Sorcier's warmest and southernmost region; its inhabitants were racially and culturally distinct from the rest of the island's population, although there had been some interbreeding; and its women had a reputation for being wild and wanton, which was the most likely reason why this man was so keen to meet one of them. She didn't need to ask him about that.
Keeping her face carefully blank, she repeated her earlier request: "I need a fresh horse. Would you be so good as to have one readied for me, please?"
"Don't you think you're a little young for this line of work?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard her. "You're… what? Fourteen?"
As a member of the nobility, Katarina was used to a better and more plentiful diet than any peasant children had access to, meaning that she had grown taller and stronger than the majority of girls her own age, which was presumably why this man thought she was perhaps a couple of years older than she actually was. But she thought it better not to explain that. Instead, she said, "I have an important message to deliver and many miles still to travel. Kindly assist me."
He gave her a hard look, but refrained from questioning her any further. "I suppose it's none of my business, really," he muttered. "I'll tell you what: take a break, get something to eat and drink, stretch your legs or whatever, and by the time you come back I'll have saddled a fresh horse for you. How does that sound?"
"If you do that, I'll be most grateful," she said. "Thank you very much."
"Well, I haven't done it yet," he muttered, helping her get down from her horse. "Thank me afterwards."
Katarina thought it was rather peculiar that he didn't ask for her credentials or any proof that she was what she claimed to be; but it occurred to her that most commoners were illiterate, so it was unlikely that he would have been able to read any official documents even if she'd been able to produce them. So, how did members of the Guild of Messengers, if there was such a thing, identify themselves to one another? Perhaps they each carried a special badge or seal about their persons, but she hadn't been asked for one of those either. Was that due to complacency, irresponsibility, or some other reason? Perhaps the waystation staff were on the lookout for horse thieves, but saw no reason to concern themselves with a young woman who'd brought her own horse with her – a fine, healthy horse, even if it was tired after a long journey – and only wanted to exchange it for a fresh one? A fair exchange was no robbery, after all.
Horse theft was a serious crime, punishable by death, and she dreaded the possibility that she might be accused of it. She almost didn't dare to let her horse, the one she'd brought with her, out of her sight. But she needed to take some time to rest, to fill her hungry belly, and to massage her aching legs until she could walk normally again. She had little choice but to extend a little trust.
"Please take care of my horse. Feed him, rub him down, and so on. If you could keep him here until I come back for him tomorrow, I would very much appreciate it," she said, handing the burly man two silver stags from her purse.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I suppose that could be arranged," he muttered. "So long as you replace it. Bring back the horse you're gonna borrow from us – or a different horse, so long as it's in good nick – and that'll be fine."
"Very reasonable. Thank you," said Katarina, giving him a respectful nod.
While he busied himself with her horse's tack, she staggered over to the eatery next door. There, she bought a wedge of cheese, a lump of bread, and a mug of small beer. Paying for her meal with a single silver stag, she received a fistful of small change, which she couldn't be bothered to count; she suspected that she was being short-changed, but couldn't bring herself to care. Settling down at a table by herself, she ate mechanically, barely tasting anything, and felt exhaustion wash over her.
I still have about sixty miles to go, she reminded herself. More than halfway. I can't stop yet.
Several minutes later, when she'd finished eating, she returned to the stable to find that the burly man she'd spoken to before had readied a fresh horse for her. It looked to be of reasonably good quality, not that she could be considered an expert on the subject; so long as her new mount got her to where she needed to go, she was content.
As he helped her up into the saddle, the burly man had a wary, fidgety air about him. "We're not gonna get in trouble for this, are we?" he asked. "Not me, nor any of my friends, nor anyone else who just happens to be passing through here?"
"I beg your pardon?" said Katarina, with a furrowed brow.
"You're not running away from an arranged marriage, are you? Or, if you are, neither your father nor your future husband are the sort who'd demand the execution of anyone who'd helped you escape, I hope." He gave her a plaintive look. "I don't fancy being hung, drawn and quartered."
Katarina stared confusedly at him for a few moments before she realized that he must have figured out that she was a member of the nobility, just as Sir Rennifer Roebuck's stablemaster had done, presumably because she had talked too much. "That wouldn't be high treason, so you wouldn't be hanged, drawn, and quartered," she assured him. "At most, you would be hanged."
"That's no better," he muttered.
"And anyway, I'm not running away from an arranged marriage, nor is my father the kind of man who would have people executed without good reason," she said. "I have come this far because I need to get help for a sick friend. There's a light mage…" Her voice gradually faded away as she realized that she'd said too much.
"A light mage, is it? I suppose you know your own business best." The burly man gave the resigned shrug of someone who had long since given up trying to prevent any member of the feckless aristocracy from doing whatever they wanted to do. "Good luck to you, I say."
"Thank you," she said, smiling at him. "I appreciate it."
Then, she was back on the road again. Her next stop would be at the 'Inn at the Crossroads', somewhere on the ill-defined border between the Crownlands, the Riverlands, and the Vale of Arryn. There, she would change horses again, probably for the last time today, if she could get that far.
She liked to think of herself as an experienced rider – and she was too young and innocent to realize that anyone who heard that might think of it as a double entendre – but she had never ridden a horse, or even a succession of horses, for longer than a few hours before. And she had scarcely ridden at all in recent years because she'd been afraid that anything she did might lead to Sienna's death.
Now, she felt pain in muscles she hadn't been aware of before. The undulating motions of the horse beneath her made her feel as if her buttocks and inner thighs were being repeatedly smacked, as if spikes were being hammered up into her spine, and as if her legs were being stretched and contorted into new shapes. Blisters had risen up and then burst. Blood was trickling down from… she didn't want to know where. Even looking at it, where it was pooling around her crotch, made her feel sick.
Am I dying? she wondered, as tears trickled down her face. I know, I promised that I'd pay any price to save Anne and Sienna, but… What's the point of paying that price if they're not safe?
In agony, haunted by shadows of fear and doubt, Katarina must have slipped into a trance – or perhaps she fell unconscious – but didn't fall out of the saddle. For some time, she rode onwards, in a bleary, insensible state, unaware of anything that was going on around her.
When she reawakened, she sat bolt upright and glanced around in a frantic panic, for a few moments, until she'd reassured herself that she was still heading in the right direction and hadn't lost too much time. Unless she'd somehow slept through an entire day and night, she judged by the position of the sun that only an hour had passed since she'd last looked.
It was late afternoon. If she'd been at home and everything had been as normal, Anne might have already called her and Sienna inside to drink tea and eat buttered scones. They'd have sat together and chattered excitedly about the day they'd had, the games they'd played and the lessons they'd endured. It would have been so… nice.
But this wasn't any kind of normal day. Sienna was dying and Anne had been kidnapped. Now, Katarina was all alone and a long way from home. Although she was exhausted and in pain, she dared not get down from her horse and take a proper rest because, if she did, it would mean utter defeat and the loss of two of her most precious friends. "What else can I do but go on?" she wondered, aloud.
She urged her horse onwards, a little faster, heedless of the pain.
When she reached the Inn at the Crossroads, where there was the next waystation, around which a sizable village had grown, Katarina needed extra help to get down from the saddle and felt as if her legs were locked in a permanent bowed shape.
The stablemaster was not easily convinced to give her a fresh horse and allow her to be on her way. "You're knackered," he said, shaking his head at her. "If you were a horse, I'd be ready with a hammer and a metal spike."
"Please," said Katarina, gently swaying from side to side. "Please… I have come this far… to save one that I love."
"How?" asked the stablemaster. "How are you going to help anyone by nearly killing yourself?"
"I… I know where there is a light mage. Only a few miles away. Just a little further."
"Can light mages resurrect the dead?" He scoffed. "You'll be in need of someone to do that for you before much longer, if you keep on going the way you have been."
"But… but…"
"Take my advice, stay the night and get some rest," he said, not unkindly. "Then, in the morning – or whenever you feel better – you can carry on."
"I can't. If I delay… at all… my beloved will be dead," she tried to explain. "I must go on. Please. I can pay you."
"Oh, you'll pay me to let you go ahead and die?" he asked, with bitter sarcasm.
"Please." She gave him her sweetest and most beseeching look until at last he relented.
"Well, if it really is only a few miles, it won't be for very long," he muttered. "And who am I to stand in the way of young love? I hope he's worthy of you, whoever he is."
Katarina didn't bother to explain that the 'beloved' she'd referred to was a female friend, not a male suitor as he seemed to assume. If she'd made the attempt, it would have taken much too long and, because she was too tired to give a proper explanation, she had no doubt that it would have led to further misunderstandings.
She waited in silence, trying not to fall asleep on her feet, until he'd finished tacking up a fresh horse for her.
"Here," he said, helping her into the saddle. "Don't make me regret this."
Katarina found herself liking him, especially when he refused to accept any more than a few miscellaneous coppers from her in payment for his help.
"The horses always need to be fed," he said, as if he had a burning need to explain why he'd accepted even that much money from her.
The sky was on fire. Gold, fading to orange and then red, growing darker all the time. The sun had sunk low on the horizon. Soon, it would be gone.
As she rode up the High Road through the mountains that enclosed the Vale of Arryn, Katarina was sorrowfully aware that the day was at an end. Night was falling.
Twenty miles to go, she told herself. No more than that, surely?
Perhaps she was lying to herself. She couldn't be sure. All she could do was keep moving forward. On and on.
Then, as she crested over a ridge, she saw them. Up ahead. Wildlings. Mountain clansmen and women. Scarred, muscular, and heavily tattooed. Wielding primitive weapons carved out of wood, bone, or animal horn, tipped with sharpened flints. Riding shaggy ponies that looked as if they were at least half goat. Perhaps they'd recently come off worse in a fight: several of them were wounded, streaked with blood, or missing various extremities.
When they glimpsed her, they must have assumed that she'd be easy prey. Uttering bloodcurdling war cries, a group of them rushed at her, seemingly competing with each other to determine who could make the most threatening gestures with their weapons.
On the meandering mountain road, they would first need to descend into a little hollow before they could charge up the ridge after her, which would give her a little time to flee. Even so, Katarina knew that they would soon catch up with her. She didn't want to know what would happen if they captured her, so instead she decided to do something they wouldn't expect: attack!
There were mountain slopes on either side. On one of them, precariously balanced, there was a dense mass of scree. When it fell, it would fill the hollow in the road as neatly as if it had been intended for that purpose.
Katarina was weak and weary. Her earth magic had never been very powerful. But, at that moment, it didn't need to be.
She let out an incoherent cry as she gathered her magic and released it. A tiny earth bump, barely large enough to cause someone to stumble, was nevertheless sufficient to cause the first few pebbles to fall. As they fell, they crashed into others, which crashed into others in turn, until it was as if the entire mountainside was coming down.
Several of the wildlings were buried under the rockslide. The others fled in panic. Katarina and her horse were left alone on the ridge.
It took what seemed like an excessively long time to safely skirt around the edge of the new pile of loose stones. Then, Katarina was rather perturbed when the shining path that the Old Gods had laid out for her didn't lead further up the road towards the Bloody Gate, as she had expected, but along a side trail and deeper into the mountains. Briefly, she wondered if she was being misled, but decided that it was too late to worry about that now; she'd come this far.
Moments later, she almost ran into another group of wildlings. As far as she could tell, they were from a different mountain clan: all of them had burn scars in place of fingers, ears, or various other body parts, which seemed to suggest that they practiced a form of ritual self-mutilation. Some of them had bloody injuries from a more recent skirmish, but they all had a gleefully victorious look about them, as if they'd just triumphed over some of their most hated enemies. Or rivals, Katarina thought to herself, remembering the last group of wildlings she'd encountered. Was that them?
This time, there were no conveniently-placed piles of scree on the mountainsides anywhere nearby, which meant that she had to think of an alternative plan of action. However, all she could come up with was to pull off her necklace of weirwood beads, hold it high up in the air, and yell, "I was sent here by the Old Gods! I am the one they have chosen! I am on a quest… to save the one that I love!"
Immediately after that, the mountain clansmen and women recoiled from her as if she were leprous. Then, laughter broke out among them, there was collective pointing and muttering, and some of them seemed to recognize her. Had they espied her from a distance when she'd dropped an avalanche on that other group of wildlings?
"Blessed by the Old Gods, are you?" said a tall woman with a burn scar where one of her ears should have been. "Well, you've certainly been a blessing to us."
"What do you want, little girl?" asked one of the men, gruff and impatient. "No matter what magical powers you have, if you think we'll bow down to you – or anyone – you've got another think coming."
"I just want… to get through… to the other side of the mountains," said Katarina, rather faintly. "That's where I need to go."
"Is that all?" asked the woman who'd spoken first. "Most witches demand a much higher price for their favors." She laughed as if he'd just told a funny joke. "But if that's all you want, Gytha, daughter of Gretta, will lead you there."
It took a few seconds for Katarina to realize that the tall woman was referring to herself in the first person. "Oh. Thank you," she said. "May the Old Gods bless you."
"They always have done," Gytha replied, with a grin. "Now, let's be gone, before you fall to pieces."
She beckoned for her to follow. And, because it was vaguely in the right direction and she didn't have any better ideas, Katarina did.
Much to Katarina's relief, Gytha the mountain clanswoman kept her word. Whether that was because of their shared faith in the Old Gods, because she was inclined to be magnanimous after winning a battle against a rival clan, or because she was afraid of catching whatever brain disease she assumed Katarina had, the consequences were the same: circumventing the Bloody Gate, she led her through a hidden mountain pass and then down into the foothills.
"Is that far enough?" Gytha asked, gesturing all around, indicating the Eyrie and a few other fortresses that could barely be seen in the distance. The sun had fallen below the horizon, night was approaching, and it was getting increasingly difficult to see through the gathering gloom.
"Thank you," Katarina said. "I… um, I'm not sure how I can repay you."
Gytha took a hasty step backwards. "Blessed or cursed as you may be, I'd prefer it if you didn't."
"Well… you're very kind."
"Sure I am," she muttered. "Good luck to you and your lover, whoever he is."
Katarina didn't bother to tell her the truth. She let her horse rest for a few minutes while Gytha walked away and she calculated how much further she had to go. Nearly there. Just a few miles. Ten at most.
She didn't know the name of the village where the light mage lived, but that didn't matter. She knew where it was – only a few miles away from the Eyrie – and how to get there. That was all she needed.
Another hour, maybe two, she told herself. No more.
By the time Katarina reached the light mage's home village, she was unutterably weary and her horse could barely manage to keep plodding onwards. It was late at night. Faint starlight shone down from above and she made sure to follow the golden path that stretched out ahead of her, showing her the way to her goal, but otherwise there was so much darkness that she could barely see anything.
The village was as quiet and still as if it had been abandoned. Katarina had hoped that there might be a few drunks stumbling home late from the pub, or some other signs of life, but there were none. It's long past midnight. That's why.
On a low hill overlooking the village, there was a large farmhouse. Unless she was very much mistaken, that was where the light mage lived.
It was not a long or difficult road that led up to the top of the hill; but, as she rode up it, Katarina felt as if she was hardly moving at all. Nevertheless, she must have reached the top, in the end. The farmhouse was in front of her.
Slowly, painfully, clumsily, she got down from the horse. Then, shambling over to the front door, she knocked three times.
There was no answer. No one came to the door. The house was silent.
Katarina knocked again, harder this time. After a few moments, she heard footsteps and caught a glimpse of candlelight leaking through the cracks around the front door. Then, it opened. A disheveled blonde girl of about her own age stood in the doorway, yawning as if she'd just been roused from a deep sleep. In one hand, she was holding a lit chamberstick; with the other, she was rubbing her eyes. Also, she appeared to be faintly glowing. "Yes, what is it this time?" she asked, with a dismal sigh. "Who needs to be healed? Someone's colicky baby? A cow that's struggling to give birth?"
"My best friend… is dying," said Katarina, sagging with exhaustion. Unable to stay standing up, she sat down with a thump. "I've traveled… over a hundred miles… to find you."
"Oh, you poor thing!" cried the blonde apparition, bending down next to her. She gathered golden light in her hands and began to rub Katarina's back, soothing her aches and pains in an instant.
"Please. Please help. I need you," Katarina mumbled. "Oh, that's good. So good…" She squirmed and moaned as her soreness melted away under the light mage's touch. "Ohh… Ohhhhhh!"
"Um. What's happened to your best friend?" asked a tentative voice. "How can I help?"
Katarina wanted to say, 'She's dying, ever so slowly. I need you to heal her. Please! I love her very much! You are the only one who can save her!' The words were clear in her mind, but only faint mumbling noises made it past her lips. As consciousness deserted her, all she managed to say was, "I… love… you."
She fainted dead away. Her head would have smacked against the ground if someone hadn't caught her.
"Oh, you love me, do you?" said the light mage, with a wry smile, cradling Katarina's unconscious body in her arms. "And it's not as if you even know me at all."
Author's Notes:
The title, 'The Longest Day', usually refers to the D-day landings in Normandy during the Second World War, but has also been used to refer to the summer solstice and various other events, so I reckoned that it was generic enough to use as a title in this fic without the majority of my readers automatically assuming that I was writing about the D-day landings. But please let me know if you disagree.
For various reasons, in this fic, Maria Campbell is going to be somewhat different from the HameFura canon character. But I won't go into detail about that until she has a larger role in one of the later chapters; then, you'll be able to get a better look at her, learn how her backstory has changed, and decide for yourselves if you approve of the changes or not.
However, I'm considering putting this fic on hiatus for a while so that I can work on some of my other projects. When I eventually get back to it, the next chapter will be written from Keith's point of view, so it'll be a while before Katarina or Maria make another appearance.