Robb at the Crossing, Part VIII
Dreams
Dacey Mormont opened her eyes and looked up through the tent's open smoke flap; just grey clouds above but there was enough light to see. She leaned on her arm and studied the snoring man lying beside her. More a boy really, Dacey was three years his senior; but his age was not the problem. Her name day had come and gone without his notice. It simply hadn't occurred to him that she would have appreciated a sweet word, a flower, some token, perhaps even a gift. When they camped near a village she had soon learned not to await his return. He'd eventually climb in beside her before dawn, exhausted, smelling of wine and whores. She'd push him away. Sometimes he would feebly probe, grunt and fall asleep; other times he was insistent. He knew even in his cups not to force his way for she was his match. But he was annoying and charming in equal measure and she did so love his body. He was lean and strong, his skin smooth and unblemished. In the heat their bodies would glide over and into each other. It was a delicious feeling. They had developed a raw routine. She would quickly satisfy him and then cuddle until they slept. Or, when she felt the need, tease and stroke him into a near frenzy, eager to do normally repellant things. They would eventually collapse spent and ecstatic. Neither wanted to be alone at night. In the morning they'd joke and kiss. During the day they'd serve their king with diligence but find moments to smile and exchange knowing glances. Then he would do something heartless.
As far as she could determine she was his first highborn lady; his reticence on the subject was endearing. It was a droll circumstance in that she should be counted somehow higher born then the children of fishers and farmers with whom she grew up. And a lady? Her mother was a warrior first. She had given baby Dacey a toy mace to chew on. It was replaced with a heavier one each name day. Her father she barely knew and her sisters were of different blood. She had been schooled in courtly manners and found most of them laughable. But she realized the effect she had on those rare occasions when she did play the role. Above the other maids she stood head and shoulders, tall, slender and beautiful. The men would dream, and the women judge. There was a kind of power there and it excited her.
They were both heirs to their respective houses, the Kraken and the Bear, so might have seemed a good match. She was very fond of him and their nights together were usually enjoyable. But love? No. For a time she believed so. But since Riverrun he had made no secret of his infatuation with the fair-haired Frey girl. As had Robb Stark. The day the Mormonts arrived in Winterfell in answer to the banner call her mind said that Robb was the right man for her. What could be more natural than a union of northern houses? Her mother had encouraged the idea. Robb was even younger but more a man, with mature concerns far beyond his personal desires. He would not have missed her name day even with a war to fight. Yet despite her best efforts to gain his attention, another had caught her scent.
"Dacey, I was admiring that mace of yours. Might I …?" He held out his hand.
They were almost eye to eye, if anything she was somewhat taller. Her mother had already told her his story. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "We are both from rough islands, Theon Greyjoy, but I'd have thought the Starks would have taught you some courtesy."
He blinked and then bent low in an extravagant bow. "My Lady Dacey, I beg your forgiveness. I had no thought to offend you with my iron born ways."
She tapped him on his shoulder with her mace. "Well enough Theon. Admire it as much as you may. Only have a care that you do not injure yourself."
He took the weapon from her with one hand, and nearly dropped it, badly misjudging its weight. She grinned, "There's no woman's size." They both laughed. He hefted the mace properly, lifted it over his head and swung it down to his side. "Good balance. You've had occasion to use it?"
"There were reavers; they left fewer than came."
"No one from Pyke, I pray?"
"We are at peace with Lord Balon, else you would not be standing here. I would regret that."
He bowed to her again, this time in earnest. "Might I have the pleasure of my lady's company at dinner? We could discuss our islands."
"That would please me, ser."
"It has been ten years since last I tasted the sea."
"They say the women of Bear Island have sea salt in their milk."
"I should visit then, if you would guide me."
She kissed him. He yawned and stretched his arms. "Oh, you. Morning, Dacey." She gave him a swift slap. "What was that for? I'm awake!"
"I was feeling tender for a moment and you just ruined it."
"You want to use the pot first?"
"Ah, the true knight; you are most generous ser." She went to relieve herself. "Theon, you remember what the Greatjon told us back at Winterfell?"
"Many things; he was rarely silent."
She stood up and began dressing. "He said, 'let no sword touch Robb but through you.' If it comes to that would you give your life for him?"
"I give nothing; I risk everything. What's this all about?"
"If he died she would be free."
"Dacey! Don't think that of me. I grew up with Robb and love him as my brother. I am no Ser Brynden but I have that much honor. Yes, I am a fool to dream of her when your love is real."
She kissed him again.
Walder Rivers and his son Aemon rode far out beyond the pickets. They crossed abandoned fields turned to weeds and forded a swiftly running stream. The early morning sun glittered in the ripples. When they came to a dark grove of ancient trees they dismounted and walked their mounts.
"The rumors are true. My trueborn brother told us all last night. The little whore has our Lord's blood on her hands. Stevron sounded proud of what she did, calling her the only Frey with any courage. Killing a broken old man; what honor in that? She wasn't so proud when the Lord first took her. You'd think she would be grateful. We would have split her wide open if he hadn't stopped us. He just wanted the honey all to himself until she grew too old."
"A kinslayer has no family. How dare she wear the Frey sigil!"
"There is more Stark in her than Frey. The pup lusts for her. They howl together like wolves coupling. But he cannot save her."
The forest thinned ahead. They tethered their horses and continued quietly to the edge of a glade still in shadow and mist. Each carried a spear and bow. With a few fallen branches and armfuls of dead grasses they constructed a crude blind. Then they waited. They shared a skin of wine and cut slices from a dry sausage. The sun had risen above the trees when they heard a snort and a deep rumbling. The stag entered the glade first. It stood frozen for a long moment and then walked calmly on. His does followed. Both men silently notched their arrows. At a whispered command from Walder they loosed. Something spooked the stag. In an instant he bolted. The arrows flew harmlessly by. "Seven Hells!" Walder cursed. "We won't get another chance today. It's an hour back to camp and we muster at noon." He looked abjectly around the glade and noticed a large black bird perched on a branch near the spot where the stag had stood. "Don't move Aemon." Facing away from the bird Walder slowly notched a second arrow. He turned suddenly and loosed. The arrow struck the bird in the breast. It struggled to fly, but after a few flaps it fell to the ground. The two men ran forward and with their spears pushed the tall grass aside. "Here's the bugger!" It was still trying to move. Walder grabbed it by the head and shook it violently. The neck snapped. He pulled out his arrow and stuffed the bird in his sack. "At least we won't return empty handed. Let's see what the cook can do with raven."
They walked back to their horses. Walder paused and opened his saddlebag and extracted a leather case.
"My father requested quill and parchment before the battle to write his will, as he expected to die shortly. These were granted but afterwards when they came for the will he told them that since he was still alive he would have some codicils to append. They did not find it when they searched his cell in Riverrun."
"How do you know that?"
"Because he managed to pass it to me." He handed the case to his son. "Read it carefully, Ser Aemon Frey, heir to the Crossing."
Brynden Tully was weary from many hours in the saddle. It was his custom to lead from the front and never demand from his men anything he was not prepared to do. They expected it of him and judged themselves by his standard. Shirkers did not last long. But each year it meant pushing himself farther. This campaign had been the hardest of his life for he was old and the stakes had never been higher. Word from the Westerlands was disturbing, in that there wasn't any. He had watchers as far as Lannisport and he had been receiving their reports for weeks. They had told of Jaime Lannister's arrival at Casterly Rock and his resolute actions to reform the army. It was larger now than the first but lacked the veteran fighters lost at Riverrun. The ranks of levies were stiffened with sellswords, pirates, brigands and whatever fighters could be bought with Lannister gold. Also the redcloak guards and sundry Lannister retainers would soon be returning from King's Landing as Stannis purged the city. But there had been no word at all for three days. It could only mean that Jaime's outriders had successfully sealed the marches. The attack would come soon.
His plan was to spoil the Kingslayer's with a major raid into the Westerlands. With luck it would buy a few days for Robb to deal with Tywin … if his message and Walda's powers of persuasion sufficed to spur the lad. During the raid what strength remained behind would concentrate at Riverrun. Edmure would have another opportunity to display his qualities. There would be enough to hold the walls but not much else. He did not regret assigning a score of his best men to Cat's escort. It was vital to their cause that Stannis hear her out. She and Walda must have reached Robb's camp by now.
There were men in the Vale ready to rally to his side at a word from him. He had not already done so in deference to Cat and Edmure. Both were adamant that he do nothing to antagonize their sister while there was still hope she would declare for Robb. But if they came on their own he could hardly send them back; at least not until the battle was won. A hundred good knights would make the difference. He could depend on Bronze Yohn. The Royces would come through whatever Lysa's timidity.
Brynden and his bands scouted the marches. The frontier between the Riverlands and Westerlands was ill-defined, mountains and forests with few paths. Jaime had strongly garrisoned the Tooth; he had come that way before. This time he would come another if only to assuage those who felt it ill-omened to begin again in the same manner that had led only to disaster. Perhaps. Brynden knew the marches well. There was another pass through the mountains large enough for an army to march. If he knew it others surely did. How would Jaime play the game? Not so long ago this would have been his sole concern, only that which might affect the outcome. Just two weeks before he had urged Robb and Walda to marry now and not wait for peace. It was best for the new realm that there'd be an undisputed heir. But then …
She had given him a lock of her hair, "before it turns white", she joked. He carried it around his neck in a small pouch. Before sleeping and sometimes just when he had some time to himself he'd open it and press the curls against his lips. For that moment her memory became reality, and impossibly wonderful and terrible dreams filled his mind. Robb would tire of her. Robb would die. All his brother's children would die and he'd inherit Riverrun and she'd come to him. They would escape across the Narrow Sea and begin a new life as lord and lady. They would have children; she was already carrying his son. She would discover some warg in him and they would fly together with her ravens far above the mundane. He would storm the Tower of Sorrow and save her from a Targaryen's dragon. And then as suddenly the magic would end. It was all a mad fantasy.
He was the most ridiculous and contemptible of creatures, a lonely old man in love with a young woman, a pretty girl who had pitied him for one night. Edmure had called it. Had they been so obvious? Or was it just him and he was imagining that she too glowed with love newly roused? When he died and his bloody corpse was stripped they'd open the pouch seeking gold or jewels. Well might they wonder. May the Gods grant that they cast it into his grave.
Tywin Lannister spoke to his brother, Kevan. "You still harbor doubts of Tyrion?"
"Resourceful, to be sure. But do you trust him in all things? There is no certainty whose cause he'll plead to Stannis."
"If there is one thing I know with certainty it is that he will never betray me. I am not blind to his emotions. He has always sought my approval, acceptance and he has earned it time and again. But I am not a loving man and will only dole it out as needed. He killed what love was in me."
"When you acknowledged him your heir I could see the change in his face. But it was including him in our oath that truly affected him." Kevan smiled and placed a hand on Tywin's shoulder.
"A little theater, that. It is enough that he believes. It will make him a better emissary if he expects to benefit."
"Brother, Stannis will never absolve Jaime of his oath or accept him as lord of anything."
"Yes, we shall have to do something about that. But we must survive first. Come, look at the map. Stark's raids have come from the west. The kingsroad south was the realm of bandits, a nuisance but no real threat. Yet it was there that Tyrion was stopped by Stark's men. He was blindfolded and taken to see Stark's council. He knew his facing when the trek began and remembered every turning and its duration. They backtracked many times to confuse him. He is convinced the Stark main body is encamped here." Tywin placed a wolf's head piece on the map south of Harrenhal athwart the kingsroad.
"Yet he writes that he was not unmasked until he had entered Stark's pavilion. It might still be a ruse. Mayhap only the council traveled to this spot. The main camp could be anywhere."
"An elaborate hoax to convince him he was just where he expected to be? I don't believe Stark thinks he has the luxury to march his captains around just to stage a show. No, they took him to the main camp. And then there is this curious business of the Frey wench. Stark has a concubine and is not shy to reveal it. A slip of a girl the Tully's recruited to behead Lord Walder? It beggars all. Tyrion was much taken with her; she leads a troop of her own and was entrusted with his escort. You've been to the Crossing. Did you notice her?"
"There were so many, Tywin, and so many named Walda. Our sister thought it amusing to introduce them all. I suppose it was inevitable that a prize would someday emerge from that herd. Stevron seems to have accepted her but I know of other Freys who would never be reconciled to a kinslayer; and not only among Genna's brood. We may glean some benefit from this. It could prove Stark's undoing."
"We may not have the time for such plots to bear out. The pup's strategy is starving us. If we can't lure him into storming Harrenhal we'll draw him out in the field. We will meet Jaime's attack below Riverrun, crushing whatever force lies between. Then together we'll catch Stark against the God's Eye."
"And his terms?"
"Dreams. He'll waken to hear my terms, shackled at my feet. And then he'll see his whore raped by a company of sellswords. Somehow he is responsible for the murders; Tyrion will tease out the truth. And if he fails I have a tickler who will."
Grand Maester Pycelle lay strapped to a board, face up. The board was inclined with his head lower than his feet. A wet cloth covered his face. A black robed inquisitor acolyte liberally applied water to the cloth from a bucket. Two more acolytes and their maester wearing his square judicial cap sat at a table beside the board, each with parchment and quill, sipping cups of wine. The acolyte farthest to the right attentively observed the sand pass through the narrow opening between the twin globes of a large graduated glass. Periodically he would make an annotation to his parchment. "Stop! Raise him up." Two guards came forward, removed the cloth and tilted the board upright. Pycelle sagged against the straps and began to cough violently, bringing up volumes of water. "We will resume questioning, Grand Maester Pycelle. Who paid you to kill King Joffrey?"
"I told you before, no one! I had no hand in this! Rhaegar attacked the king and stole my parchment knife. He used it to cut Elia loose. I told Clegane."
"That is not what we wish to hear, Grand Maester Pycelle. Begin again!"
The guards began to tilt the board back, when a man out of Pycelle's sight spoke. "Maester inquisitor, wait." He walked around so that Pycelle could see him.
"Lord … King Stannis forgive me that I am unable to bow."
"Tell me of this bird."
"A rogue! I should have suspected, he returned from Riverrun changed. I thought he had flown off to the Citadel, seeking promotion. Next I saw him, he was attacking King Joffrey, the poor boy, screaming Winterfell! Even then I hoped to save him from the king's wrath. I never contemplated his true purpose. More fool I!"
Maester Cressen came up beside Stannis. "How many names did Rhaegar know?"
"Cressen, you here, too? I would offer a drink, but they drown me in water not wine. Names, you say? Why, let me see, Red Keep, of course; then Riverrun. You would know Dragonstone, he's flown there enough times. Winterfell, High Garden, Casterly Rock, Storm's End, the Eyrie, Sunspear, Pyke. All the great houses."
"By the Gods, that's ten!"
"A remarkable bird; and one more, the Citadel. It is said that Archmaester Walgrave trained and named him. Naturally such a bird could only be assigned to the Grand Maester. I treated him well, even arranging trysts with his mate. All the eggs I sent to the Ravenry. He must have many descendants in service."
"Why did you suspect he had deserted you for the Citadel?"
"Did I not say he had changed? His feathers were turning white. He had survived an attack. The weir eagle's talon marks were on him. His flesh was pierced. He was becoming a white raven before my eyes! The Conclave would want him. But he was far too valuable for them. I knew he would not leave without Elia, so I used her as bait for a trap."
Stannis spoke. "And he used your knife? Baelish tells me they found that knife in Joffrey's bed."
"You see! Rhaegar used it to kill the king!"
"Joffrey was already dead, like the others, with your poison."
"Your Grace! I loved them! You must remember how I always favored the Lannisters, even when Aerys ruled! I am not the only one with knowledge of poisons."
"And you favored them when my brother ruled. That's why I brought Maester Cressen here. The Conclave will name him Grand Maester. But tell me this, what is a weir eagle?"
Your Grace, if Cressen is qualified to replace me he would know."
"The weir eagle heralds the approach of winter, your Grace. In summer it stays north of the Wall. When there are sightings in the south we prepare."
"I have lived through winters before, but never heard talk of this weir creature."
"They appear only before a long winter, a very long and harsh winter. There has not been such in my lifetime. They have something to do with the white walkers, perhaps they are warged. No one knows for sure."
"And what does it mean to be attacked by one?"
"If not immediately fatal, legend has it that the victim is transformed."
"Into what?"
"It is only legend, my King; it would be foolish to give it much credence."
"Cressen, tell him or I will!"
"Some demonic creature like itself, spreading icy death beneath its wings."
"You wanted such a monster for yourself?"
"I would see for myself if all the legends were true. It would increase my understanding."
"So, it is merely an academic interest; but enough of this idle talk of magic. Answer a real question Pycelle, who do you believe is the poisoner?"
"Clegane, Slynt, Baelish, Varys, perhaps even the Queen. A mother distraught for some reason may commit the unthinkable act and murder her own."
"And Robb Stark?"
"Yes, of course; if he had some means. The message he sent by Rhaegar from Riverrun threatened blood for blood."
"And my brother?"
"Ah, your Grace, you would know better than I."
Stannis turned to go, and then paused. "Maester inquisitor, you may resume."
Maester Cressen and King Stannis walked together along a corridor. Stannis went slowly so the old man could keep pace. "I believe there are already warrants for Clegane and Rhaegar. Let us be sure that the bird is taken alive. The evidence is sufficient to place him on trial."
"And on what charge?"
"There's Joffrey's original warrant for insult and injury to the person of the king. We could add desecration of the dead; and if you can imagine how a bird may mix potions, murder. There is that feather found beside Cersei."
"Your Grace, in trials of beasts a court appointed advocate is necessary."
"You have someone in mind?"
"Yes, sire; there is really only one person qualified, Maester Gormon, judge of ravencraft at the Citadel."
"Is he not the uncle of Lord Mace Tyrell?"
"This is so, your Grace."
"I will send for him immediately; he will need time to prepare his case."
"Should we not first have the defendant in custody?"
"Whatever; it may prove advantageous to have Mace's uncle at court."
"My King, you would make me Grand Maester knowing my age and infirmities. I believe you value my advice, the untempered truth."
"And now you will give it. But wait. I would visit the Godswood first." They turned down another corridor, climbed a flight of stairs and came to a heavy barred door. Two guards wearing Baratheon livery quickly opened it. They stepped outside and went to rest on a stone bench beneath the ancient heart tree.
"My King, there is a rumor in the city. Many say that you plotted the murders."
"Then it should be clear why I should appear so interested in discovering the truth, the untempered variety."
"But if the truth leads to the Lady Melisandre?"
"Now how would that be possible? We were all in Dragonstone. But you still harbor doubts. Why did you not simply ask her? You were both on the same ship."
"My King, does not she too serve only you? There are things I would refuse to do. You know this yet still retain me. But she … the murder of children is not beyond her or her god. Was it by your order?"
Stannis turned and held out his hand to the Red Priestess as she walked out from behind the great oak.
"Good day, your Grace and soon-to-be Grand Maester Cressen. Forgive me but I could not avoid overhearing your conversation while I awaited the King. As for your question, I am not certain of all I am capable in service to R'hllor. Certainly the Lannisters are not above child murder. But no, it was not I. It rather bears the mark of faceless men and that would implicate one of great wealth. As for the rumor there are times when the innocent may profit from the machinations of the guilty. Perhaps our visitors may illuminate the mystery."
Cressen looked to the king, perplexed.
"As you know I was expecting an embassy or maybe two. But we now have reports of three approaching. Perhaps they come to bend the knee. But it would be foolish to think so."