Chapter 24:
The cold winds sent a sharp chill down Isabel's spine, as she shivered in the cloak of fur that had surrounded her recovering body. Her wounds were healing now, and Talisa, the nurse from Volantis, was quick to note that a faint rosy colour had now returned to her face in the recent days. The hollowness of her cheeks had begun to fill out, and Isabel had begun to feel stronger as each day and night passed.
Yet despite her body growing stronger, she felt her mind completely exhausted and defeated.
The tent flapped wide open, sending in a dull dim daylight into the small confined space. Isabel blinked quickly to readjust her eyes, and looked at her visitor with a mixture of eagerness, frustration, and wary.
Ser Harrold Hardyng was her cousin, related to her through the Arryn line, yet she was never particularly close with him. He was older than her, and was sent away to live with another lord in the Vale after his own parents died when he was younger. Despite being third in line for the Vale, Isabel Arryn never thought of Ser Harrold Hardyng as anything more than distant kin. By the time Ser Harrold became a young squire, Isabel had already left for King's Landing, and the two cousins had never really seen each other since.
"Dear cousin," she greeted warmly.
Ser Harrold Hardyng removed his helmet, revealing a tired and dirtied face. Yet underneath the soot and fatigue, Isabel noted the youthfulness in his hazel brown eyes, and an intense gaze that reminded her of her own passion as well as a certain handsomeness that reminded her of the face of Jamie Lannister.
He took Isabel's hand and squeezed it gently, before lighting placing a peck on her cheek as a sign of affectionate and familiarity with her. Despite their estrangement, they were still family and bound by Arryn blood.
"You look better every day, dear Isabel," he lightly remarked.
"Thank you Harrold," she replied. "What news do you bring from the Eyrie?"
Her home was all she thought about over the last few days while she was still resting. Soon after she woke, the Northern Army had marched out again, leaving Isabel alone along with the injured, sick and servants that were left running around the fields. Lady Catelyn Stark had departed not long after to the Stormlands in an attempt to broker an alliance between them commanded by her son.
Amongst all the chaos and war, Isabel could do nothing but brood over her home, and where the loyalties of her men were.
Her cousin gestured towards a seat, and Isabel nodded at him, allowing him to sit in her presence. She brought him two empty cups as he reached over to the jug of wine sitting on the wooden table and poured himself a generous glass, and handed Isabel a smaller portion.
"What were you thinking when you rode off into Tywin's camp? Did you honestly think you would have been able to persuade him to stop him?" he suddenly asked.
Isabel closed her eyes momentarily, secretly hoping that her foolish mistake would be long forgotten. "I was wrong," she simply said. "I underestimated his character...and I overestimated my own."
"You almost got yourself killed," he scolded.
"More than once, I assure you…and I don't intend on getting myself killed anytime soon."
"I rode with an army when your council received news of your return to King's Landing. That's barely even a third of the Valemen you have at your disposal…and we joined this war because of you. We've lost many lives already, fighting for Robb's cause. I need to know Isabel…are we in this war or not? If we are…you need to convince Lord Nestor Royce and the rest of your council to raise the rest of your houses."
Isabel remained silent, slowly taking all this information in. It was the first time that she would hold her first war council, even it was just a private conversation between her cousin. All her life, she had dreamt of leading an army, winning battles and ruling the Vale, and the time had finally come where her dreams were becoming a reality.
And it scared her.
This wasn't a game anymore – yet King's Landing only taught her how to play games.
"Do we have a reason to stay in this war? Or are we to go home?" she wondered out loud to herself.
Ser Harrold gave out a large and heavy sigh. "That depends on you, Isabel. You can claim that the Eyrie will continue to avenge the injustice brought upon you…that you won't stop until all the Lannisters are dead in this realm. Or you could run away back to the Eyrie…the choice is really yours. You know Lord Nestor Royce will support you, as well as everybody else in your council."
"But will all my bannermen come? You know of my situation with my brother. They will use this opportunity to steal my titles away from me. I cannot fight two battles at once. I fight her, or I fight the Lannisters," she said tiredly.
"I wouldn't worry too much about Lysa Arryn," Ser Harrold said truthfully, "Lord Nestor Royce has her guarded day and night, and all her letters are intercepted. We know who her allies are, and we're watching all of them. If there's a plot brewing to overthrow you…we'll know."
Ser Harrold bit the inside of his tongue, trying not to give away any hint of betrayal. Unbeknownst to his own consciousness, he had already begun to spiral down the path of corruption. In his mind, Isabel Arryn would be so consumed with Lysa Arryn and Robb Stark that she would never expect what he was already planning.
"And what of this war? Where does the Vale stand with Robb Stark and his army?" she asked.
"They're true Northerners…they hold a certain amount of suspicious against all of us. But King Robb has been most generous to us. He treats us well, and heeds my council where it concerned you. But he has held us back in from his main lines. I figured he did it because he hoped we would spend our resources finding you…and we did, thank the Seven! He's instead ordered me to send the Valemen mostly on scouting missions otherwise, gathering intelligence and tracking our enemies."
King Robb. It was a title that still sounded foreign to her, and his name made her heart ache. Their short-lived reunion felt like only a few short seconds, before she was whisked away by the nurse, and he into battle.
Isabel remained completely silent and stared into her full cup of wine, which she now held in her lap, torn between two wars that she felt herself losing already.
"The last time I made a decision by myself I was taken prisoner and someone tried to kill me – twice. I will not make this decision without the rest of my council," she admitted.
She looked at her cousin, but his face did not give her any indication of his thought or feeling. He remained perfectly still, waiting for her to finish her thoughts.
"I am…still recovering...it will be weeks before I would be able to travel anyways," she began slowly. "I will write to Lord Nestor Royce, and we will determine our position in this war from there. If we choose to stay, I will call all my bannermen…and we will truly see who is a loyal friend to the Vale. For now, we will use what men we have left and aide Robb should he need it. But we will promise him no more resources until my council is heard," she finally said after some reluctance.
Ser Harrold nodded in agreement, took one last gulp of his now empty cup and placed it back on the tray. "Between you and me, dear cousin…loyalty, honour, and strength is only gained through the victories of battles. If you want to win favour from your lords…you need to win a war."
"There are many types of war," she replied. "Not all of them are with a sword and shield."
"No…but those are the ones that history remembers."
"Perhaps history should start remembering other wars," she said bitterly.
Ser Harrold picked up his helmet from the table, and proceeded to leave. However the voice in his head that he could not simply ignore baited him to start weaving his web of lies and deception.
If he wanted chaos to unfold, this was now the time to plant his seeds.
"I hear our King of the North will return tonight, with the Freys by his side. He's ordered Lord Bolton to move further south into the Riverlands, while we move camp to plan our next attack," he began.
Isabel furrowed her brows in slight confusion, "Robb has split his army?"
"It's how he deceived Jamie Lannister the first time around…it seems to be working in his favour for now. And the Freys...well, they've kept to their word. They've been quite useful to Robb in recent days."
"I did not know that House Frey was worthy of such an honourable mention," she dryly stated, knowing the full extent of their character and reputation.
"Reputation aside, my lady…the Freys have proved their worth to our dear King. Afterall, King Robb will wed one of the girls when this war is over."
She blankly stared at Ser Harrold, unsure if the words were actually spoken, and she looked at her older cousin suspiciously.
"What do you mean….Robb is to marry a Frey?" she asked slowly.
Feigning ignorance, Ser Harrold continued to press on, "It was part of the agreement, otherwise Robb's army would have never been able to cross the Twins and defeat Jamie Lannister. I thought…you knew Isabel. I'm…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything..."
She shook her head and urged him not to apologize. As he left her tent, she felt her whole world spin and her body weaken once again.
How cruel and ironic life can be, she bitterly thought and felt her fists clenched, feeling her nails dig into her skin.
It seemed so long ago that she had promised Varys to marry the Targaryen Beggar King in order to secure her claim to the Vale.
Now the tables had turned - Robb had promised himself to another for the sake of his army.
She could not help the tears that formed and fell from her eyes and she struggled to hold back the small whimper that came from her throat. Isabel felt foolish for thinking that she could have the dream she had wanted.
The voice came back, like a cold and eerie whisper that swirled with the cold winds. The candle on the small wooden table in her tent flickered violently, casting the dark and fiery shadows on the walls. The shadows were dancing around Isabel again, and she became mesmerized at it.
Foolish little bird, the voice whispered. Did you really think you could have it all?
They met again within the dark crevices and corners of the underground tunnels of the Red Keep, beneath the blanket of stars and a full white moon. Varys had imagined this would be the last time he would see his old friend again from Pentos for the next little while. Stannis Baratheon's impending attack on the city was nearing, and the waters surrounding the capital city was simply too dangerous for any more correspondence between them.
"What news from the east?" Varys inquired, as he walked side by side with Magister Illyrio through the dark and windy tunnels.
"With the Khal dead, our princess has no army. Her dragons may not live to see the year if she does not seek shelter from the Red Waste," Illyrio said worriedly.
"I have full faith in our princess that she will somehow survive. She's got a fire that burns within her, a flame that won't be put out so easily… something her brother never had. And those dragons are a miracle to our cause…a blessing, a sign. Our time is coming - balance will be restored to the realm."
"We still have no ships though Varys. And we have no army," Illyrio blatantly stated.
"The ships will come," Varys reassured him, "Isabel Arryn has already agreed to send three across the Narrow Sea. They will be docked in Braavos for the time being…and will be in Ser Jorah Mormont's command when the time comes."
"And our army?"
"An unfortunate nick in the road,' Varys replied, "We'll have to count on our friends here in Westeros, and perhaps a sellsword company or two."
"And Isabel? Has she committed to this? We need her house to back our support, otherwise everything we've worked for will be gone to ruins!"
Varys stopped walking and turned to face his larger counterpart. "Isabel Arryn…she's got her father's spirit. Defiant, independent and proud…she's promised me a marriage, and she's given me ships. I've no intention in putting any less trust in her."
"She's agreed to marry? Did you even tell her whom?"
Varys knowingly smiled, "Ah! An unfortunate flaw in our dear little bird. She assumes too much and asks too little. She was under the impression she was to marry Viserys."
"And you…have other plans for her?" Illyrio asked suspiciously.
"Isabel's betrothal is a powerful tool…I won't give it away that easily to just anybody that is not up for the task. There...are a few options for a suitor that are being put in play - friends of ours…friends with money, friends with power...and friends with armies. In time, Isabel will sail to the east and make her choice."
"But I hear your little bird has run off to the wolf pup. What makes you think she won't marry him in the middle of the night? You assume too much, old friend. You've begun to lose your touch!"
"I know she won't marry Robb Stark," Varys said sternly. "I know her too well. She loves the Vale more than she loves Robb Stark. She loves the Vale more than anything…she'll do whatever it takes to continue her father's legacy."
Magister Illyrio patted his friend back and let out a tired sigh. "Then you put too much trust in her."
They continued to walk in silence, each in their own brooding thoughts. For the Magister, he was a practical man. He saw this entire endeavour as an investment. Varys promised him gold, and promised him power. But now he was beginning to worry that this was all a distant dream that could never come true. The two friends had been preparing for this day ever since the days of the Mad King, and just when they were getting so close in achieving their goals, it seemed like the gods had begun working against them.
For Varys, he had never once doubted himself – ever. But could he be wrong this time? Did Varys put too much trust in Isabel Arryn?
A deep dark feeling emerged from the shadows and sent a fear through Varys' being. He didn't like fear. Fear was for the weak; for those who could be supressed; for those who didn't know how to play the game.
But now he was afraid whether Isabel Arryn would ever betray him.
The horses galloped into the camp at nightfall, signalling the arrival of the Northern Army returning from their battle. The shouts and sounds easily woke Isabel from her ill-attempts at sleeping and in her half-awoken slumber, she grabbed the fur cloak that draped lazily on the wooden chair next to her bed and walked out into the cold, crisp air.
The men were running around her, though all their faces and sigils they bore were unrecognizable to her. Some were looking for the nurses, others were tending to their injured comrades in arms. Isabel looked around, and spotted Robb in the distant, blood and dirt spattered all over his face. He looked angry, determined and tired and she watched him briskly walk into his tent, with the other lords that followed him.
Without knowing, she felt her feet walk towards his direction. A few quizzical looks were thrown in her direction. Many of the lords only knew her by name, and held a certain amount of suspicion towards her.
She opened the flap of the tent and found Robb and his lords huddle together over the wooden table to was in the middle of the floor. They were in a heated discussion, she could tell, as the fingers kept pointing at various location of the map they had all been studying.
"It's a three day's march from here. We can't make it in time! We'll be chasing Tywin's arse and that's no bloody use to us!"
Lord Umber's voice bellowed and shook the room, silencing his companions momentarily.
"This could simply be a diversion, Your Grace. Tywin Lannister is learning from you...learning your tricks. He could very well pull the same maneuver you pulled on him," suggested another.
Isabel cleared her throat, a feeble girlish attempt to get the attention of the Northern Lords. They all looked up, and stared at her momentarily unsure of how to act in front of a lady during a time of war.
"Isabel," Robb said suddenly, and she noticed that his eyes immediately lit up, sending a lovesick jolt through her heart. "You should be resting."
The other lords looked at her with slight disdain and discontent. She immediately recognized Black Walder Frey amongst the group, and she was quick to note that he almost sneered at her direction.
I am my father's daughter, she said to herself.
I am ready to play this game.
Isabel held her head up high, and calmly walked over to the table glanced over at the map that currently lied in the middle of the table. "This is my war too," she stated.
Some of the lords tried to hold back their chuckle, but a quick look from their King immediately silenced them into submission.
"Isabel…" he began, "You need to rest. It's late, and the cold winds aren't good for you…go back to your tent. I will come by later and visit."
"Were my men with you? Did they ride out into battle with you? Did any of the Valemen die for you?" she continued to press.
She looked around the room, and noticed some of the lords dared not to look at her in the eye, but she dared not to break her gaze. Robb remained silent and cast his eyes down to the ground. "This is my war too," she repeated. "I deserve to sit in on this council, Your Grace."
At that moment, she felt no longer like the love sick girl in Winterfell. The young pair looked at each other, and neither of them could sense the longing they had for each other after months of separation. He was a king now, and a hardened warrior – Robb Stark was no longer a boy.
They both could sense the change between them, but neither of them wanted to admit it.
He gave a slight nod and motioned for her to sit down, as they continued to discuss their next battle strategies.
"Your Grace, We Freys have three thousand men at your command waiting to have their chance at battle and glory. I can lead the charge," declared Black Walder Frey.
Robb looked at him with wary, and gave out a huge sigh. "I need you here by my side, Lord Frey. Lord Karstark, how many men can you spare?"
A large bearded man, Lord Karstark spoke in a slow, but powerful tone. "I've two thousand with my son still. Rickard could lead the charge."
"Then you will lead the charge, and Lord Frey and I will round the attack and come from the east, with the sun in our favour." he commanded, and pointed at the battle map.
Lord Karstark nodded his head in agreement, "I will command him to leave tonight. We'll use the night to our advantage."
Robb looked up at Isabel and suddenly asked, "We'll need Ser Harrold to lead your men as a scouting party. We need him to track the Lannister's movements, and report back to us."
Isabel fumbled on her words, unable to keep up with the intensity and speed of the other lords. "Y-Ye-Yes..of course. I'll tell him at once," she stuttered out.
He nodded at the others and walked away from the table to a basin and splashed some water on his face. It was a silent command that their meeting was over. One by one, they gave a bow to their king and walked out. Isabel remained in her seat and watched each lord file out, and in particular watched Black Walder Frey as he glared at her as he walked out and left the young pair in private.
Neither of them said anything, and neither of them moved. Isabel fumbled with her hands, and felt suddenly afraid of looking up and into his eyes.
"Isabel…" he said finally, his hardened mask slipping away and revealing the boy from Winterfell she once remembered.
She felt him sit beside her and she looked up at him. His hand went to her cheek, and though his hand felt rough and cold against her skin, she welcomed it gladly.
His lips came crashing down upon hers and she responded with the same passion and energy. Her hands went behind his neck, as she pulled him closer to her body. Robb broke their kiss and began to place a trail of smaller, lighter kisses along her jawline until he reached her collarbone.
He exposed the scar that ran along the base of her neck, and he traced its cut with his fingers. His touch tickled Isabel, and she shivered at the sensation. Robb brought his lips down to her chest and placed three light kisses on it before bringing her hand to his lips and placing on last small kiss on it.
"Robb," she whispered, "I hear you are a king now…Your Grace."
Their lips met again, this time with a tenderness that caused Isabel to sigh out in pure content.
"I should have never have let you go," he desperately said. "I'll kill the Lannisters for what they've done to you. I'll kill them all."
"It was my own choice to walk into the lion's den," she confessed.
"When I found out…I..I felt my whole world crashing. I couldn't think…I just knew I had to get you back."
She affectionately stroked his face, and placed another kiss on his lips. "I'm here now…thanks to you," she whispered.
She gave him a sad smile, trying not to think about the betrothal that Robb promised to Walder Frey. But their fates were now sealed and the lives they would lead now chosen for them.
"You are to marry a Frey?" she found her asking, and could not help but hear her voice break as she spoke those fateful words.
His jaw immediately tightened, and his hand fell to his side. Robb's eyes were now filled with sadness and he cast them down to avoid Isabel's gaze. "I only agreed so my men could cross the Twins…I...I regret the moment I gave them my word. I love you..I want you to be my wife, my queen…not some Frey girl."
Isabel took his hand and squeezed it gently. "It had to be done," she simply stated.
Deep down, she couldn't be mad for she was technically already promised to another.
"I'll find a way out of this Isabel," he declared before placing a longing kiss on her hand. "When this is all over, I'll tell Walder Frey I was promised to another. Everything will work out…you'll see."
She couldn't help but smile at his naivety, yet finding no comfort in his hope.
"We do not know what tomorrow brings," she faintly whispered and lazily tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear before placing another small tender kiss on his lips.
Robb stood up and walked around the table and poured himself a small cup of wine. He easily finished the glass before pouring another when all of a sudden he threw it across the room, letting its contents splash against the tent's fabrics and into the mud.
Isabel jumped from her seat in surprise, confused at the sudden outburst of emotion. Walking over to him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and let the young wolf envelope her into a hug with the furs of his cloak tickling her exposed skin. He kissed the top of her head, but refused to let her go.
"Everything I knew is falling apart," he confessed. "My father is dead, my family is torn…Bran is a cripple and my sisters are still missing. My mother wants me to trade Jamie Lannister for my sisters…and my lords want him dead. I want to go home…but I must keep marching south. This isn't the life I wanted…this isn't the life I envisioned."
Isabel looked up and affectionately stroked his face in an effort to soothe his temper, "We can't choose the life the gods fated us to have. All we can do is play their game well. Your sisters are safe…and your father..I'm sorry Robb…" she quietly replied, trailing off her voice into a low whisper.
"Did you see him?" he asked hopefully. "Did you...speak to him before he died? And my sisters?"
She felt her jaw tightened, unsure and conflicted to how much she should reveal. "They barred all visitors during your father's imprisonment…I only caught a glimpse of him before Joffrey executed him…but I know he wouldn't have confessed if he didn't think Sansa and Arya was in danger. He did what any father would have done…he didn't die a traitor, he died protecting his children..."
"I'll kill them all," he whispered again.
"They've wrong enough of us...their time will come. We will see them all fall," she assuredly said.
They held onto each other, entwined together while the candles on the table flickering its flame and shadows across the room, danced its nightly dance during the darkest hours of night. The young pair held onto each other, as if they were clinging onto their own fears with the only sole comfort they would find was in the warmness of their bodies and their tender touches.
For Robb Stark, he worried that this war would cost him to lose something he simply could not afford to lose. He worried for his family, his lands, and his love. He never wanted to play this game, and he was never prepared for it. All he really wanted to do was to go home to Winterfell and leave this world of war and politics.
For Isabel Arryn, she never stopped worrying. She worried for the day when Lysa Arryn would see her fall from grace, worried that she would fail her father and worried that she would lose everything that she worked. Most of all, she worried that she lost the motivation to play the game of thrones.
In her mind, she knew what had to be done, and Robb's unavoidable marriage to the Frey girl would have been the Seven's answer to her prayers.
Yet somehow, everything felt wrong.
Why can't I have it all?
To play the game of thrones, the voice in her head whispered, you need to give yourself into your fears. Accept your fate and make your moves.
Which fate is condemned for me?
This time, she could no longer ignore the sinister voice that called to her. She stared into the flames, and once again became mesmerized by the dance it had already begun, casted by its shadows and moved by the winds.
Greatness is calling for you Isabel Arryn.
A/N: Phew! Reunion at last! Was it worth the gruesome wait? Hope I did Varys a little justice..for a calculating man who seems so calm all the time, I speculate what kind of fears our Master of Whispers really has.
Until next time! Our story continues!...xoxo