The Red King's eyes stared with half-lidded boredom as Dacey finished telling her tale. She had been issued into his tent as soon as she returned, though it was late in the evening and the King had already gone abed. She had stood there, soaked to the bone, too cold and too hot at the same time, and told him the whole of it, told him the truth. The few servants present sneered at her when she told them of the wolves, told them of the intervention of the gods, but the King had only taken in her words in silence, the dim candlelight playing over his completely still features.

"...and there was nothing to be done. Grey Wind and the Devil Wolf, they could have fought us alone, and they had made their intent clear. With Sandor Clegane and half a hundred wolves beside, we could not have done anything. I know what my orders were, your Grace, but..." She swallowed, fearing the blow that would inevitably follow.

"...I failed you."

A moment of silence. She bowed her head, and against her will she found herself weeping. Was this the end? Was this all her service earned her? Would he kill her? Drag her away screaming, cut open her belly and hang her guts from the trees? She had seen him do it to their enemies often enough. But she had been loyal, til now. Perhaps he would simply smile with disappointment and dismiss her from his battleguard, consign her to irrelevance. Once such a fate would have seemed more terrible to her than any torture, but now as her last tears left he she felt only hollow.

After a moment she looked up, only to see the King drinking deeply of wine. He placed the cup aside and sighed.

"Well, it sounds as though there was nothing you could do. I suppose they seek to back my bastard brother in the North. Unless you have more to report, I suggest you get some sleep, Lady Dacey."

Dacey blinked. "Your Grace?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You have more to report?"

"No, I-" She paused. "I only…. Your Grace, I had thought… I did find one of your sisters and lose the other. Surely this changes things somewhat?"

"Perhaps." He thought a moment. "But while you were away I have managed to resolve matters with the Vale host. Sansa proved unnecessary on that front. Royce and I have found common cause in opposing the newly proclaimed Queen of Westeros."

"Queen?" Dacey started. "Cersei has claimed the crown for herself?"

"No. Not Cersei." The King smiled and shook his head, his teeth too white in the dim light of the tent. "Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of Aerys the Mad whom my father and Robin's father killed. She is come again from Essos with three dragons, no doubt to bring vengeance on us and ours."

"Dragons..." It did not seem as impossible as it should have.

"Have I not led you thus far?" The King said, his voice calm and assured. "Thoros and I have concocted an answer to fire made flesh, a tool to turn their flames against them. Our army will march for the capital undaunted by dragonfire."

"How?"

The King waved a hand. "Have faith, Lady Dacey. You will see when the time comes." The King's cold eyes made it clear he would suffer no more questions on this front.

It seemed impossible, and yet… so had everything that had happened in the last year. What was she to say? She said nothing.

"And as for the North..." He shrugged. "Well, we were going to have to go back there eventually anyway. The place is infested with Baratheons, I hear, and my bastard brother would have me suborn myself to him."

"They say Stannis Baratheon is an honorable man," she said, helplessly.

"Honorable or no, he has no right to claim the North. I am its King and I have sworn no oath to him, nor will I. I will not suffer rivals, nor will I suffer so-called allies who seek to make me their servant. If honorable men and women side against me, I will destroy them along with the dishonorable. It is the same with this Dragon Queen or even my own blood. Life or death is their decision, not mine."

It was not her place to question him. It was not her place. But she questioned him anyway. "Do you feel nothing for them? For Jon and Sansa and Arya?"

The King paused as if uncertain for a moment, and then he smiled. "In truth, Lady Dacey? No. I do not. I was born on the edge of the river with the taste of ash in my mouth and a heart empty of everything other than despair. I lay flat on my back for the first month I spent with the Brotherhood, dumb and deaf to the world, chained to my cot like a mad dog. But while I lay there, I dreamed, and soon I saw my future begin to take shape."

"You saw that you must take vengeance," Dacey prompted. Every word from the King felt like a hammer blow to her ribs, and it was all she could do to not shake and cry. Family, friendship, honor, none of these meant anything to the King.

"Hah. Vengeance, yes, and so much more," The King replied, seemingly unaware of her presence. "In the dreams, I remembered glimpses of the past, battles with you and Jon and the others by my side, but that was the beginning. Soon I saw glimpses of the future as well, the vengeance we wrought at the Twins." He chuckled and looked away. "When I saw the slaughter at the Twins, it was like seeing my oldest friend. I had ended the Freys a hundred times in my sleep before I ever did it in the waking world… I dream of that moment sometimes still."

Dacey's dirty fingernails bit into the palm of her hand. She had to restrain herself, she had to remain calm. A fey mood had taken the King, and at last she had a chance to gain answers to questions that had weighed heavily on her mind for months. "But you said vengeance was only the beginning?"

"Aye. I dream all the time. War, it is always war, but it always changes. Sometimes it is in the past, sometimes it is in the future. Sometimes I am myself, sometimes I am another. I have burned the Shield Islands, I have sacked Selhorys, and I have hunted horsemen on the wide grey wastes… And I have fought Daenerys in a field of fire before the capital. I have faced Jon Snow amidst the fallen remains of the Wall."

Dacey opened her mouth but could find no words to say. He is mad, she thought. But no, madness would not have won them the Twins. If the King was mad it was the more normal kind, the kind of madness to which she had grown accustomed. This strange power he held, it must be something else entirely. She closed her mouth. Master yourself. To show dismay in front of the King, to show displeasure… such a thing would spell disaster.

"So you always knew that he would betray you," she managed. "No, your only memory of him is that he betrays you, and so he is like any other enemy."

"We understand each other."

She shivered in spite of the heat, and the Red King laughed. "Why do you fear? Because I am great and terrible?"

She ducked her head. "Yes, your Grace," she said, quietly. "I am glad I am not your enemy."

He waved his hand. "Do not fear, Lady Dacey. I cannot remember Snow or Sansa or Arya but I can remember you, from the past and the present and the future, all three. Why else would I trust you as I have just now? Go and get some rest for now, for flesh fails even the strong, and I can see that you are tired."

-

Gods.

Words failed her. Her thoughts refused to resolve to any definite shape, refused to fix on any certain emotion. Dread, and dread alone was the constant, coiling like a serpent around the chambers of her mind, squeezing and turning her brain to pulp. She needed rest, but she could not find it. In the end, she went off to the edge of the camp in search of the cold, in search of emptiness. The night's rain had ended and for a short time, the air was cool. After some struggling she took off the heaviest parts of her harness and sat on a stone, looking out.

Had it only been the night air that she had come here to find? She stared out at the treeline. She could get her horse. She could be free of this hell in an hour. She could even convince Jon to join her, and all his men, if she wanted. He stood at the brink just as she did. All he needed was a push. They could fight their way North, fight their way back home.

It could be done. Perhaps. But her heart sank in her chest even as she thought of it. The King had seen her fighting alongside him, just as he had seen them taking the Twins. She remembered how strange that night had been, how impossible every turn of events had seemed. She had long suspected the King of being a seer, but now the King had confirmed it himself and pronounced her doom in the same sentence. Dacey knew well enough what happened to those who ignored the words of a seer. The King had seen them fighting side by side. If she deserted, what would happen instead? Could her fate be averted at all?

But if she rode forward to meet her fate, if she continued as she had, seeking to die with glory on the field of battle, where would that lead her? What if she lived long enough to sack and burn the capital, Lannisport, White Harbor, and Winter's Town? What if she lived long enough to see the King murder his brother, his sisters, and all he had once held dear? She thought of the direwolves and she shuddered. The Gods themselves hated the King, would he fight them too? No. No, no, no, no no! It was all intolerable. Going forward could not be born! Running away was impossible! Between two such obstacles, what path remained open? Dacey grimaced. She knew the answer. She had known the answer all along.

Treason. Fight by the King's side, but whisper every word to the enemy. Seal away sin in her heart and pull the King down to hell with her. Jorah had already made their family name black as sin, but she would make it blacker still, and be glad for it. Win or lose, she would not be alive long, and that itself felt like a kind of relief. Jon Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Daenerys Targaryen… let them pick over Westeros' corpse. They would at least leave some alive, and she could not say the same of the Red King.

The Red King. That was a name more apt than Dacey had ever realized. For that was all he was. So many times she had thought she understood him, but she had always seen more there than there was. The King was a gristmill without grain, turning and turning and destroying men and women without ceasing. He had a mind of steel and eyes of fire, and she knew that whenever she slept at last she would see only his face coming to haunt her, and no others.I have killed so many and lost so many and yet it is the living that haunts me most of all.

The sun came up over the horizon and for the first time in months, Dacey truly felt herself. Plain too-tall Dacey Mormont of Bear Island.

She could walk through the camp with her eyes closed, so often had she seen these same patchwork tents. They always laid out the camp in the same way with the same rows, the same followers, the same tents. The sun had not yet fully come up and the camp was slow to rise, and she thanked the gods for that. Her feet took her to the tent of the ravenry without error, and with but a single word the guard let her inside.

The ravenkeeper supplied her with ink and paper without question. She wrote the words, sealed the letter, and handed it to the Master.

"To King's Landing," she said simply.

The ravenkeeper nodded and began tying it to a raven's leg almost immediately. She stood there watching, waiting for the question that would ruin her. She was too tense, she was too tongue-tied. If the ravenkeeper so much as looked at her, it would be like a knife to the heart and she would give it all away. But he never looked at her. She left the tent a moment later without anyone noticing. Why should anyone glance twice at her? She was the King's dog, his most loyal supporter, and she had sent ravens for the King a hundred times before this.

It was easy. That thought surprised her most of all. High treason, and yet so very very easy.