Happy New Year and associated festive period all. Here's the penultimate chapter.
-v-
The Saltspear was in his nostrils as Greyback rode happily toward the coast.
The girl, his prize from Winterfell, was seated on the horse behind him. She started blankly at him, but he'd tied her to the horse.
He smiled back at her, then kicked his horse up a stony slope.
The coastal village unveiled itself at the edge of the world, a scattering of thatched cottages nestled among rolling sandy dunes and a sloping beach. The sunlight painted the grasses a dull gold, causing them to sway gently in the coastal breeze as though mimicking the softer waves beyond, out in the larger river that led to Blazewater Bay. Among the grasses there were pretty pockets of wildflowers and bushes of berries and gorse, spatterings of colour among the landscape.
This was the last hill before the sea, and as the werewolf reached it's summit he looked out upon the Saltspear.
To his left, off to the east was the Fever River and a large swamp, the Neck. That geography separated the North from the rest of Westeros, but that had been far too risky to chance, and Greyback hadn't wanted to spend weeks going through a swamp in any case.
He could just about see it now, the smudge of darkness that was a large frigid forest stretching along the west coast of the Neck, half bogland and peat flat, the rest dark trees and suspicious folk.
Beyond that was the Trident, the Riverlands and then down to the Crownlands. He could have turned further east, crossed the mountains into the Vale of Arryn, or perhaps west into the lands of House Lannister, but either way had been treacherous, and there was too much land to get through, and too many people who might oppose him.
No, now was the time for quiet, and that meant a stealthy exit from the North.
"We'll soon be away, girl." he said to the child, "And we'll soon have you safe."
Her lips were pale, her eyes glazed over, even as she looked at him with a sort of absent fear.
He wasn't sure what she was so offended at, he'd given her a great gift after all.
Taking a deep breath of salt air, Greyback led their horses down toward the village.
"Remember what I've told you, girl." he warned her as they rode.
Sansa Stark hadn't spoken sense for several days.
While Greyback was reasonably well practised in biting children, in the controlled transmission of lycanthropy to bodies too young to take such stress, it was always a risky procedure. He'd gotten some supplies from Barrowtown, as well as collected the bloody sap of a weirwood after hearing of its use in healing in one of Old Nan's stories, weeks ago in Winterfell.
After Greyback had smeared the sap into the girl's wounds they'd closed remarkably, setting into a hard red carapace almost, which Greyback had then bandaged and padded well.
The girl had said nothing, only looked at him with eyes that seemed hardly to see him. It didn't matter though, at least she wasn't complaining or making a fuss. Just in case though he'd threatened her well, showed her the bodies of the Northern soldiers he'd killed during the full moon and told her that if she revealed herself he'd kill more, that she held the lives of her countryfolk in her hands, purchased by her silence.
While Greyback had been relatively uncaring when he'd found in the caves the month before, allowing some of the men to escape, wounded but living, in this instance against the pursuing Barrowtown men who'd followed them down the river, Greyback had killed them all. He'd tracked them through the rocks, the few that had escaped his rampage during the storm, and seen to their deaths. Stealth was what he wanted here, and it would take weeks for anyone to find what happened to the party, and by that time Greyback would be safely away and the North in chaos.
He smiled at the memory. It had been a good night. But the best of it was to feel the girl's blood on his tongue as he made her his.
Closer to the shore, the humble shanties of the fishermen huddled together. Their exteriors, weather-beaten and worn, still bore little signs of decoration, of the pride the workers took, even among their nets, and traps strewn about in a purposeless disarray. Seagulls perched on roosts, their beady eyes fixed on the day's catch with hungry anticipation.
Greyback looked along the coast, it was all low land, but across the bay, he could see the start of hills. Perhaps in a thousand years those hill would be cliffs, he thought, then banished the notion from his mind. He had better things to worry about. Instead, he rode on, past old stone ruins, perhaps a mill or a watchtower too far from the village for anyone to bother with.
This part of the North was poorly settled and wild. Untamed pasture and grassland spread out south of Barrowtown, and the Rills were known to by a sparse land with few resources, populated mostly by sheep. The whole western shore of the North was like that, from the Wolfswood to the Stony Shore.
Greyback knew he was too unsubtle for an extended subterfuge, so he just rode in boldly, drawing the girl's horse behind him as he went.
"Bring me a healer or wise woman for the girl, she's hurt badly!" he called aloud as he stopped his horse. Several women approached as Greyback too Sansa from the horse, untying her quickly. "She's delirious." he said, "But there's a dire wound here, almost like a wolf or a bear was at her, look." he said, motioning to the girl's neck.
One of the village women approached, a stout matron in a floury apron, her light hair escaping a tight bun at the back of her neck. "What's happened here?" she demanded.
Fenrir smiled a little, it was rare for people to speak to him in such a tone, "Wildlings." he said simply, "Fetch your headman too."
Greyback concentrated on the scent of the sea. He could smell the rotting seaweed further down the beach, could smell the gutted fish on the shore and the roasting of a ham in one house somewhere in the village.
He couldn't risk his lust showing on his face. When he'd sunk his teeth into the girl it had been glorious.
But that would wait, he couldn't stand about salivating about it.
A group of men were striding up, in their middle the headman of the village, or Greyback identified him as such by his slightly better clothing. The werewolf swiftly drew the man away into a more private setting in the village's commonhouse.
"We rode out from Barrowtown two months ago. You've heard about the troubles with Wildlings in the Wolfswood?" he asked the man, speaking softly as to draw him into intimate conversation and share a secret.
"Aye, we've heard something of it from travellers." the man nodded.
"Well, it's worse than you'd think. Hundreds of Wildlings, perhaps thousands in truth." Greyback grunted, "They fought their way through the hill clans in a great battle, then came through caves to the Wolfswood. They've been raiding there, slaying whole villages. They killed two-" and Greyback rapidly thought as he decided to inflate the numbers even further. "Three hundred maybe, men under Lords Cerwyn and Tallhart."
"Three hundred!" the headman exclaimed, "How many Wildlings are there?"
Greyback just shook his head, "Not so loud." he said, "Lord Stark is worried about spreading panic, I heard it from the man himself when he spoke to us all before we went into the Wolfswood."
"None shall head such a thing from me!"
No, Greyback thought. Not yet at least. But he knew the man would spread it sooner or later, and all to the werewolf's benefit.
"Anyway, we went in under Lord Stark, but we couldn't find them. We found tracks heading south and we men in service to the Dustins went back to Barrowtown, but we'd heard that groups of strange men had been seen heading south, trying to keep quiet and out of sight." Greyback explained his lie further.
"Surely any man would know a Wildling when he saw one?" the headman protested.
"You'd think so, but there are so many queer folk in the land these days, perhaps they blend in? Only the Gods can know." Greyback shrugged. "They were making south though, that much is clear, and Lord Harwood-" he threw in a name of one of the Barrowtown subordinate nobles for good measure, "He says to us, 'go out to the coast and check the Wildlings don't make for it there'."
Greyback shrugged dramatically. "Of course, we had no idea where they might be. Parties went out into the Barrowlands, down the Kingsroad, and other places. We came to a farmhouse a few days ride from here. Everyone was dead there, and cruel things had been done to the women."
Greyback almost smiled at the memory of that.
"We tracked them though, ran them down in a gully and killed them all. There were only twenty, and this Hati Moon-Brother, their chief, wasn't among them. We found the girl there and I said I'd make for the coast to alert any villages I could, and see if any here might aid her."
It was a well concocted story, Greyback knew. It played on the prejudices and fears of the headman, and he was confident it would be believed long enough to let him do what he needed to.
"Now." Greyback continued, "You must see to your part. I'll thank you for the care of your women over the girl, but you must send out men around the village, and to others. They must be warned too. Let them come to me here and alert me of any danger, and my lads will come find me eventually."
The headman was nodding earnestly.
"Are there any suspicious folk around here?" Greyback continued, "Any knaves who might give aid to the Wildlings? Willingly or no?"
"I've not heard of any, other than a few Ironborn traders who stop here for lumber sometimes."
Perfect.
Greyback nodded his own earnest nod, "Then we must watch them especially carefully, and you must coordinate the searching. I don't know this country as well as you, and you have the authority here."
After all, flattery never hurt anyone did it?
"I must assemble the village elders." the headman protested, "I can't order men about, not without a writ from Master Berold."
Some provincial lord sworn to House Dustin of Barrowtown, Greyback assumed. Not important enough to matter…
"You'll do no such thing." Greyback rose to his full height, speaking down at the man as he stood too, a head or more shorter than Greyback. "I come here, not from your lord no, but on their behalf and with their authority." And with that Greyback touched the sigil on his stolen doublet. "You will search the coasts and the lands around and keep a keen lookout for any Wildling bands. If you don't, you'll have Hati Moon-Brother and his savages burning down this hovel before the month is out. I've seen what he does, headman, and by the Old Gods and the New, you don't want to meet him."
The headman left with murmured grumbles, but Greyback knew he'd obey. What else was there to do after all, in light of such threats by these dangerous Wildlings? Soon after though he returned, and Greyback found himself thrust before an assembly of the villagers, who were too curious to obey at once.
Greyback half suspected the headman had put them up to this. There was something in the feudal contract of the North about men being paid for service in a militia, but he didn't know enough about it to tell whether this was some play by the crowd to get coin.
He just shrugged a little and began to tell his tale, it didn't matter to him after all, he was just trying to get as many people out of the village and sow enough confusion that he could escape after all.
"And what about this girl, I saw blood on her dress!" one old man clutching a staff with one hoary hand said.
"She must have been through a great deal, for she'll not speak to me other than to say that a great beast attacked her and slaughtered many men." Greyback said, feigning concern in what he assumed was a credible way.
The villagers grumbled, "A beast?" said the headman, "What beast could kill men-at-arms?"
"As I said," Greyback repeated, "She's delirious because of her injuries, that or what's been done to her has broken her mind. Who can know such things." and he shrugged, "In any case though, I'll check on her later and see if your women can make her calm down enough to tell me something useful."
The villagers saw an authoritative soldier with the right sigil and believed him.
It was so simple sometimes, Greyback reflected. He didn't count himself as a magnificent actor. He could deceive when he wanted, and he was especially good when he was reasonably well-prepared and understood his audience. It was easy enough to use theatre, charisma, intimidation or just bribery to achieve what he needed.
That was the mistake of wizards and muggles both. They believed his legend, the harvest of which he'd cultivated over decades and reaped well after. He'd been captured multiple times, it wasn't as if he was a match for squads of Aurors after all, not on his own, and he'd often managed to escape mostly by making them underestimate him. Once he'd even pretended to be a muggle tramp, and the wizards had taken his pretended amazement at magic, his ragged clothes and his lack of wand as proof.
A longer-term deception was more difficult of course, but he'd played the cuckoo many times. It was easy enough, to attack a population, then slip in behind their defences in his human form. Wait a month in secrecy, then attack again and escape.
His stay in this village wouldn't be so long, he wanted to be off relatively quickly, away across the water toward the Iron Islands. He'd only ever had to transform at sea once, and mercifully it was on a large enough ship that he'd been able to sate himself on the crew instead of going mad, but it had been a close thing and he didn't wish for anything similar on this trip.
It was just so easy to play folk against each other.
Greyback didn't really think he had any great skill in long term deception, he was too unsubtle for that. But to persuade people to do things they already thought were in their best interest, and to threaten them with the fear of monsters in the dark if they didn't? That was easy.
It had been the same when he'd slipped into Torrhen's Square or Barrowtown. It would be foolish for him to pretend to be some unaware man, not knowing what was going on. His physicality saw to that. Yes, he could stoop or were a loose cloak, but Greyback knew he intimidated people just by standing and looking at them. Better to use that and play the harsh armsman looking for a quarrel of bolts and some hot food before heading back out, willing to share news of the terrible Hati Moon-Brother and his murderous band.
There was no inn in the village, it was too small for that and there weren't enough travellers who might need such a thing. There was a commonhouse though, and Greyback got himself set up in there, seeing to his weapons as best he could without the proper training. But he checked over each of them, laying out the death-tools on a table and cleaning them carefully. The motions were familiar to him, they were safe. He felt himself slip into an almost meditative flow as he worked, focusing on the smell of the fire, trying to escape the uncomfortably hypersensitivity that came just after a transformation.
The headman came to him, saying that Greyback's commands had been carried out, that men had been sent to the villages to the east and west and would report back in a few days, and that others would head out tomorrow to start searching carefully for any Wildlings. Greyback praised the man, but found himself tired, unwilling to engage in the deception further and begging off any more discussion, he turned to sleep. He would see to Sansa Stark, and to their escape tomorrow.
He had plans in the Iron Islands, and as he fell into sleep, Greyback lost himself with dreams of magic.