This chapter is a shorter one, as it is the final one before the council of Riverrun, and the first POV happens a week before the other two.

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Have a good read!

Rogar

Rogar Barstark checked if something was amiss. Thankfully, no servant dared to steal his possessions.

He had been surprised to see Lord Stark walking hale and healthy. His face bore the marks of his suffering, Rogar could count the extra wrinkles the Silent Wolf acquired when bedridden. But Eddard Stark just shrugged it off, too busy organising the journey to Riverrun.

Rogar hadn't expected the Lord to venture south, even less his hurry. Stark has commanded to depart one week after his awakening, and today was the day.

Rogar was surprised to see K'dhai out of his chambers. The Neferi demon hunter was a new acquaintance, even a friend if the Barstark had a say. A great fighter, he entertained Rogar with his wild tales of monsters and demons. His home was under constant threat from the supernatural. K'dhai became a hunter after his parents were killed before his eyes by a beast, to be later eaten by it. A horrible tale, one Rogar wishes not to hear again.

"You're ready?" The Neferi curtly asked.

Rogar waved his hand, "Aye, it's all packed neatly. What of Ossiya? I'm impressed he wasn't caught yet."

"The bloody bird is a cautious one," K'dhai said, "He spent all the time inside the guest's tower, always complaining about the small room."

"Your chambers, small?" Rogar chuckled, "What did he expect, a king's hall?"

The hunter sighed, "His people dwell on the top of giant trees without a roof above their heads. The poor bastard wasn't able to fly these entire moons, give him a break. Would you like to sleep in a room without a floor?"

Realisation dawned on the Barstark, "Good Gods... let's just hope our feathery friend doesn't forget how to fly."

They chatted for some time, and then Rogar decided to go to the courtyard. They would depart soon, and making Lord Stark wait wouldn't be respectable.

As expected, it was brimmed with human souls. Servants ran left and right, carrying the heavy coffers of Lord Eddard's household. He saw a Septa scolding a dirty child who was wearing a soldier's sallet.

Then Rogar bumped against someone. He was extremely tall, with long hair and a beard the colour of snow. A wildling, the Barstark presumed, eyeing the strange leather and bronze armour the man wore.

"Watch yer' step, laddie." He grumbled.

That hurt Rogar's pride. Who the fuck do you think you are?

He grabbed the wildling's shoulder, "I'm not a bloody kid, sheep fucker. Show some respect."

The savage's brows furrowed, "Fucking kneeler eloquence. Go make some water under a tree, Mother Mole always said that a virgin's piss is a good fertiliser."

Rogar didn't need to answer that slight. His fist would do.

It hit the wildling square in the jaw, who recoiled from the impact. "BASTARD! YER' GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!"

Rogar suddenly found himself lifted in the air, the savage pinning him against a wall. The prick was mighty, but Rogar wasn't to be underrated. He headbutted his foe and set himself free from his grasp.

Suddenly people were separating them. The Barstark had to admit they were brave, especially for lowborn peasants. Some nobles would cut off their hands for such action.

"What is going on here?"

It was Lord Stark in the flesh, with that direwolf of his'. He shot the two a stern gaze that made Rogar flinch.

"Who started the fight?" He calmly asked.

"It was him," The Wildling said, gesturing wildly, "The bastard punched me, I only acted to defend meself."

Lord Eddard crossed his arms, "Is it true, Rogar?"

The Barstark's nostrils flared, "He disrespected me, my Lord. I had to defend my honour, it was my right!"

Lord Stark rubbed his face, "Gods almighty, I'm already burdened as it is. Make peace, I won't tolerate violence under my roof."

Rogar glared at the wildling, who spat and left.

"Savages, all of them." Rogar muttered.

"Do not antagonise them, Rogar," Lord Stark said, "The wildlings fought the Others for years, I can't fathom how they survived till now."

Rogar's cheeks flushed in shame, which made Lord Eddard laugh.

"Gods, you remind me of someone..." he said melancholically. "Go prepare yourself. We ride."

With that, Eddard left Rogar alone, still thinking about his long-lost cousin's words. Suddenly it made more sense... the raids of the wildlings. They were desperate.

And what happens when someone dies at the hands of an Other...?

Rogar looked north and shivered. An army of the dead may be marching against us.

A horn. It was the signal to depart.

Rogar mounted his horse and followed the line, with more doubts than before.

Tyrion

The whore moaned.

Riverrun has some pretty girls, Tyrion thought. His current one had a beautiful blonde braid in the Riverman style and two big bosoms. Tyrion thrust one more time, his seed entering her cunt.

Tyrion then laid on his back, smiling. The woman, Wanda her name, was still energetic.

"You're a greedy one, aren't you?" Tyrion asked, "I'm sorry to inform you that my beautiful cock has no more juice left. You've squeezed it dry, woman."

She giggled, "Tired already, my Lord? Then the rumours weren't true..."

Tyrion scoffed, "Which of the many? The one where I have a tail and horns or the other where I'm a sexual beast that feeds itself drinking whore sweat?"

"The second one, my Lord." She jested.

"Good Gods, your comedy is irreplaceable," Tyrion grumbled, tossing her a bag of coins, "Keep the change, I may need you tomorrow." The girl left the wagon, giggling all the way.

Tyrion stepped out and took a deep breath. Riverrun had a good smell, he had to admit. Yet he heard one could suffocate in Highgarden for how many roses there are. If it's even worse than Mace Tyrell's perfume, then it must be true.

Father had been too distracted to discover Tyrion's adventures. He still managed to maintain a confident composure before his vassals, but his façade falls off at Tyrion's presence. Sometimes colour drains from his face, and other times his eyes twitch, yet he always excuses himself, stating that there's work to be done.

Tyrion didn't believe him. He could hear Tywin muttering and panicking while sleeping. The dwarf didn't know which dreams could disturb the mighty Tywin Lannister, and wasn't keen on discovering them. Just let him sort it out alone. I don't give two fucks.

"Had a good time?"

It was Vikon, the former soldier. Tyrion liked him, he was a good drinking buddy.

"Couldn't ask for more," Tyrion said, "You know, I believe a whore's company is always enlightening. They have a highly evolved sense of honour. She will never cheat on you... unless she's employed by Petyr Baelish. That man gives the profession a bad name."

The man shrugged, "Can't say I know him, my Lord. Yet you speak the truth." He took a swing of his wineskin, yet nothing was inside. "Gods damn, it's already empty."

Tyrion offered his', "Interpret it as a gesture of goodwill, my friend."

Vikon chuckled, "At this rate, I might find employment with you if there's alcohol to be earned."

Tyrion laughed, "Hah! I will build a huge barrel filled with ale once I'm Lord of Casterly Rock, so that every Westerman can drown his sorrows with a good drink!"

"Now, that's an ambitious promise!" Vikon jested, "All hail Lord Tyrion of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West and provider of ale!"

They reached the castle of Riverrun. Tyrion took his leave to join Tywin, it would be an offence not to greet the Tullys.

Hoster did not age well. Tyrion remembered him clearly: he was a stout man with a silver tongue, a good sword in battle, everything one could ask for in a Westerosi noble. Now he barely sustains himself with a cane, only his wits remaining unchanged.

The redhead next to him should be Edmure Tully. Tyrion had to admit he was good looking and, judging from his physique, a good warrior. His expression radiated boredom, he probably didn't want to be near any Lannister.

Lord Hoster appeared to flinch once he saw Father's missing eye, but extended his hand nonetheless, "Lord Tywin, it is an honour to welcome your host. His Grace the King is near, and should arrive by tomorrow. Until then, enjoy Riverman hospitality."

A servant with a platter offered bread and salt, offering guests rights. If only that would protect us from the fury of good King Robert.

Tyrion then found himself in the company of Lord Edmure. They had a pleasant conversation, the dwarf wasn't expecting him to share his same... vices.

"I gave her a good tumble. Gods, it's good to be Lord..." Tyrion said.

Edmure grinned, "Aye, Wanda is a pretty one, has a sharp tongue too."

"I believe we'll go along well, my Lord," the Lannister smiled, "May I ask if news arrived these last days? It's hard to keep up with the happenings as of late."

The Tully sighed, "Very true, my Lord. There are rumours of Lord Stark coming south despite his precarious health and whispers of a strange discovery below the Hightower. I suppose Lord Tyrell will care to explain what was found in detail."

Tyrion scoffed, "If someone will explain, then it will be the Fat Flower's mother. Mace Tyrell has no wits, only foolishness resides inside his head."

"I suppose..." Lord Edmure trailed off, "Lord William Mooton has given word that the sea is restless. He had to close and secure the port of Maidenpool. In only one night, four ships were sunk."

That surprised Tyrion, "Truly? What else was damaged?"

Edmure shrugged, "Hells if I know, but Lord Mooton seems to have the situation under control."

"We are in an age of legends, my Lord. The air is denser, I can feel it permeate my bones..."

"Couldn't agree more," Tyrion said, "From dreams to curses... I've experienced the supernatural on my skin. My father apparently didn't take it well, you've surely noticed his deflation."

Edmure carefully nodded, "Aye. But I must say that the young adapt better than the old. My father similarly doesn't like the direction our reality is heading to."

"It was a pleasant surprise to see Lord Hoster well," Tyrion noted, "There have been rumours of his precarious illness."

The young man smiled, "Aye, it was a miracle. 'Tis good to see him walking again."

They continued their smalltalk for some time. Lord Edmure was a natural charmer and knew his way with people. Tyrion was pleased to have made a new friend.

Tyrion returned to his quarters to have a good night's sleep. Unfortunately, no whore was waiting for him under the bedsheets. Then I must compensate tomorrow, Tyrion lustfully thought.

Tyrion didn't know what to feel about the following days. He was excited to see his bitch of a sister in a cage, but his heart ached at Jaime's involvement. Brother, what were you thinking...

Tyrion lay on his stomach. He scowled to see the Mysteries neatly propped near his temporary desk. He wondered what secret that blasted book had, the cultists were fascinated by it. The dwarf still remembers the mad glint in the eyes of his would've been killer... not even Gregor Clegane looked like that before raping a woman.

The other lords must know what we're dealing with, Tyrion thought. Not only legendary monsters were on their doorstep, but also a group of madmen wished him dead. Fantastic.

Tyrion turned on his back, sleep claiming him.

Gared

The crows travelled, aiming for their destination.

Riverrun.

Gared had never been south of the Neck. Born in Queenscrown, he joined the watch during his youth after his parents died in a wildling raid. He was two and ten, and now his brothers regard him as the longest-serving ranger ever lived—an achievement of itself, as Night's Watchmen died like flies.

Even lowborns in the Night's Watch can ascend the rankings. He himself was the living proof. Yet Gared didn't expect to become Lord Commander, as Benjen Stark would probably succeed Mormont.

Besides him rode Yoren, a wandering crow. They were the luckier of the bunch, free to travel the Seven Kingdoms in search of recruits. He asked the man how many whores he bed during his watch, Gared was not impressed when he didn't know the number. Nonetheless, he was a good man, dedicated to defending the weak. His odour was unbearable, however.

It was odd to see a big party of crows wandering the Riverlands, even more with the cargo they were escorting. One living wight, alongside two animated limbs. The Lord Commander wished to send them in addition to the White Walker the First Ranger is parading. They would probably arrive sooner than the Stark host, which was bigger than theirs.

They reached the Twins, the seat of House Frey. Yoren explained that Lord Walder was a spiteful man who extorted everyone who passed his bridge and raped young ladies. Gared doubted he was that horrible, but the wandering crow insisted, saying that many southern nobles didn't have the same decency as Lord Stark. He shuddered, thinking of the poor folk that lived under these tyrants.

"Stay silent and let me do the talking, or Lord Walder might take offence." Yoren reminded him as they entered the gates.

The inside of the castle was dark and grim. No light penetrated the thick curtains, Gared wondered how a man could live like this. Lord Walder sat hunched on a wide chair with various household members by his side. The man was younger than Maester Aemon, but carried his years worse than the kind old man.

"So, a party of crows wish to use my bridge," Lord Frey croaked, "I suppose you lot are directed to Riverrun, but 'tis strange for the Night's Watch to intervene in the affairs of the realm."

The old lord leaned forward, "What burden do you carry, wandering crow?"

Thankfully, Yoren reigned his nerves, "The Night's Watch has its reasons, my Lord. Lord Commander Mormont ordered us not to reveal our... delivery, and I do not intend to betray his words."

Lord Walder grumbled, "Words are but wind, crow. You northerners live following oaths... a waste, in my opinion. Great men always take any opportunity, no matter the dishonour it may bring. Those who do not... they perish in obscurity."

Gared balled his fists, who does he think he is!? He was a dark stain that plagued these lands, a craven man who wouldn't think twice before betraying his liege.

"Then why Lord Stark thrived, m'Lord?" Gared clenched his jaw, "Good Lord Eddard is known to be a just man, an oath keeper. Why is his body not rotting beneath our feet?"

Yoren looked at him wildly. He had said something he would regret. I do not care. My life should've ended at the hands of a White Walker, the Gods must have a reason to keep me alive.

Lord Walder glared daggers, "Heh, we have an insolent whelp. I would have you flogged for this, but you men of the Night's Watch are protected by the crown. What a shame. Consider yourselves lucky."

The two Night's Watchmen glowered, "Then I ask for you to let us pass your bridge now," Joren said, "It may be for the best."

"Yes, I must agree with you," the Late Lord muttered, "Perwyn! Get your arse over here and accompany our... esteemed guests."

They left the hall enraged. If all Southrons were like this, the realm would be doomed. Gared hoped the other lords had at least some shred of humility.

Ser Perwyn appeared uncomfortable, "Excuse my father, rangers. He's always crude towards anyone and brings shame to House Frey."

Yoren sighed, "'Tis not your fault, good Ser. We have an important mission, and I will do anything to see it completed."

Ser Perwyn graciously led them to the other side and bid farewell. The crow's journey resumed once more, as if they hadn't found any trouble at all.