Chapter IV: The Harvest
Playing cyvasse got wearisome after so many days. Brynden drew back the bowstring and held the bow steady. After a moment, he let go of the arrow.
"Rim." the master of the range called out. Brynden frowned and nocked another arrow. He drew back the bowstring and this time held still longer. Once his breathing became calm, he released the arrow.
"Hub." was the call. Brynden did not show his satisfaction. He simply nocked and drew once again, loosening the bowstring once his breath became steady.
"Eye." the master of the range called out. Brynden shot seven more times, hitting the hub of the target twice and the eye five times.
"Quite remarkable, my lord." the master of the range said.
"Hardly." Brynden muttered before skulking away. He had hoped for the archery range to be empty. He walked up to the Serpentine Steps and into the middle bailey. Servants and soldiers hurried back and forth and Brynden slipped past all of them unnoticed. He passed the kennels and the stables until he was in the outer yard.
"Are you going somewhere, my lord?" a soldier asked. Brynden took a moment to recognize him.
"Not in particular, Samwell." he told the watchman with a shrug. "You're not in armor."
"I have been rotated out of duty for the day. I am going into the city." Samwell answered.
"I didn't know watchmen ever got off duty." Brynden said.
"We are still human, my lord. Although yes, it took me a few months to be rotated off duty. It isn't easy for younger watchmen." Samwell answered. He snapped to attention when a City Watch officer approached him.
"The Reach caravans have entered the city, Samwell. You have to be on duty today." the officer said.
"Yes ser." Samwell said and without another word, began walking back to the barracks.
"What are the Reach caravans?" Brynden asked, catching up to Samwell.
"It's a train of caravans that comes from Highgarden twice a year. It has enough food to last King's Landing twice over." Samwell replied.
"But Highgarden is seven hundred miles away! Why bother bringing food all the way from there?" Brynden asked.
"I do not know, Brynden. I am but a mere soldier of the watch. You must ask the learned maesters why Highgarden provides." Samwell said.
"Then I shall do just that." Brynden said and made his way to the library of the Keep before remembering that he didn't know where the maesters usually were. He changed his direction and headed to the library. He quietly opened the door and stepped inside. Brynden did not care much for reading unless it was tales of knights and giants and maidens imprisoned in castles by Valyrian sorcerers. Libraries were dull and dreary affairs for him and this one was no different. The leather bound tomes and tracts on the shelves made him feel sleepy already. There was someone whispering in some corner of the library. Lacking any other idea, Brynden decided to eavesdrop on whoever was whispering. He crept through the shelves until he found the source of the whispers. Balerion Othereys was standing next to a black haired and white bearded man with a cane.
"...and are you certain of this?" Balerion whispered.
"As certain as I can be. I sent my own son to verify." the other man answered.
"I see." Balerion said with a heavy sigh. There was downcast silence as Balerion studied a document. "How many of them are taking part in this?"
"As far as I know, only one. It's a risky venture and the others don't like to throw their hats into the wind." the other man said.
"Wouldn't want their precious headgear to get burned." Balerion said. He rolled up the document and stowed it away in his pockets. "Lord Butterwell will not be pleased."
"Lord Butterbutt is seldom pleased. I am surprised his hands haven't fallen off from all the wringing and rubbing he does with them." the other man snorted. Brynden chuckled at the word 'Butterbutt', making Balerion whirl around with a dagger in his hand.
"Who's there?" he demanded. Instead of facing the wrath of his older cousin, Brynden decided to slip away. He quietly left the library and ran back to the Red Keep and almost crashed into Gwenys.
"Watch where you are going." she snapped. "Also, Mother is searching for you. She has decided to mend ways with Lady Barba Bracken."
"What does that have to do with me?" Brynden asked.
"I don't know? Go ask Mother." Gwenys said.
"And where are you going?" Brynden asked.
"None of your business." His older sister snapped and walked away. Brynden was deciding on following her or not when his ear was grabbed by Septa Helena who wordlessly dragged him away.
"I will find her. You have kept your mother waiting. Now go." the stern septa said and Brynden meekly obeyed.
His mother was embroidering when Brynden entered her room. He quietly went over and sat on Septa Helena's cot and waited for his mother to speak. She continued making delightful patterns on the cloth with thread and needle.
"Do you remember little Aegor, Brynden?" she asked, still embroidering.
"I am afraid I do not, mother." Brynden said.
"I thought so. You two were quite young when you met at court. I had hoped that you two would get along." she said and set her embroidery down. She looked up and Brynden was shocked to see her kind eyes were red.
"Mother," Brynden began but she held up her hand.
"No, Brynden. You must listen. I did not come to King's Landing because I missed Daeron. I came here because he is my king and he needs my help to stabilize the realm." she said.
"But the realm is stable." Brynden objected.
"Then you are a fool if you think so." her mother said so coldly that Brynden felt like she had slapped him. "You are fifteen years of age, Brynden. How long will you play with bows and hounds? You are my only son and it is time that you act like it."
Brynden felt tears prickle his eyes. His mother had never scolded him before. It was Mya and Gwenys who got scolded. It was unfair. What was he supposed to do?
All his thoughts and fears flew out the window when Septa Helena burst into the room, her hoodless hair flying, her eyes wild.
"Mistress!" she screamed. "Gwenys has been hurt! Someone stabbed her!"
Brynden couldn't remember the next moments clearly. He half remembered running. He remembered shouting. He remembered all the servants and guards in the castle bustling about. He remembered his mother crying. But most of all, he remembered Gwenys' face. Her attacker had been most unkind. The right side of her face had been cut open. Her eye was lost. She was white as death and still as a stone.
Brynden fainted.
The dragon wakes
And suddenly, it seemed he was awake. He cleaned his feathers and scanned the market. He spotted a spare morsel on the ground and jumped down to get it. He opened his wings just in time and landed on the ground. He scooped up the tasty morsel in his beak and swallowed it whole.
"Benjen, the harbormaster's waiting for you!" he heard someone yell.
"Tell him to sod off!" the other man, presumably Benjen, replied.
And now he wasn't in the market, he was in a cage in a stone room. The room was high above the ground. The narrow window showed a thin slice of blue. There were a dozen more ravens in the room, all in cages. Except he could see himself from their eyes as well. All the eyes in the rooms were his.
The room's door opened and two men stepped inside. One of them was Hand of the King, Lord Butterwell.
"This one is for Lord Ronnel Fossoway," he said, handing a letter to the other man. "This one is for Lord Osmund Peake, this one for Lord Jason Lannister, and this one for Lord Stark."
And the other man took him out from his cage and tied a letter to his leg. And let him fly. He flew westwards. How did he know how to fly? How could he fly? Had he always been a raven? He remembered dreaming he was a human boy once. A distant dream.
And suddenly, he was back in the cage again. But somehow, he could tell that he hadn't returned. It was as if he had been pulled out of one raven and stuffed into another. The two men were still in the room.
"Should we send a letter to the Blackwoods, melord?" the other man said.
"The king has forbidden it." Lord Butterwell said gruffly.
"But surely with Master Brynden's illness, someone needs to send word to Raventree." the other man persisted.
"Tomas, you overstep." Lord Butterwell said in a warning tone.
"Begging your pardon, my lordship. These are troubled days." Tomas said. Lord Butterwell grunted and stepped out of the room. Tomas remained in the room before quietly taking him out of his cage and tying a letter to his leg. He struggled and cried out. He couldn't remember if he was a raven or a boy and he felt if he didn't know now, he would forever be a raven.
"Pipe down, you bloody bird." Tomas hissed. Tomas released him out of the window but he perched on the window and didn't fly off. He had to know if he was a boy or a raven.
"What's the matter with you?" Tomas said. He poked him but he, the raven-boy, didn't budge. "Stupid creature." Tomas mumbled before shoving him out of the window.
He fell. He was so surprised that he forgot he had wings. He hit the ground and cried out in pain. His wings had broken. He lay there, drowning in agony. He felt a creature sniff him before picking him up in its mouth. Fangs pierced his body and he cried again. Perhaps he had always been a raven. He had been foolish enough to believe his dream was true. He had paid the price for his folly in blood. He would die as a meal to some creature while archers corrected their aim.
Archers?
How did a raven know what archery was?
And suddenly, as if his realization had freed him from his dying body, he was another raven, perched high above any hunting creature that could harm him or cage that could imprison him. He looked down at the ground carefully. The raven in him told him to jump off but the dream of being a boy held him back. After a while, he decided to listen to the raven but made sure to open his wings when he jumped.
It was a joy to glide. He then decided to flap his wings. He rose when he flapped and the harder he flapped, the higher he rose until he was well above the castle. Some part of him remembered the castle's layout. He decided to see if his dreams of being a boy were true or not. They were most certainly just dreams but the part of him that still thought himself as a boy wanted to make sure. So he, the raven-boy, flew down to the castle once more and found the window he had dreamt. He looked inside.
A young boy lay asleep on a bed while a woman sat at his side. She would occasionally stroke the young boy's hair and murmur something. Tears ran down the woman's face, tears which she wiped away. Another woman, much younger than the one sitting beside the sleeping boy, was kneeling and praying at the wall.
He saw the young boy. He was pale with white hair and a red mark on his face. And with a shock, he remembered.
He was Brynden Rivers and he was looking at his own body. The shock was enough to make his real body sit up with a gasp. His mother, for it was surely his mother, screamed and almost fell off the bed. His older sister Mya, for it was surely his older sister, fainted.
"I dreamt I was a bloody raven, mother!" Brynden said to his mother and promptly fainted once more.