Chapter 18: Keeping the Cat in the Bag
Rud POV: Sixth Day of the Twelfth Moon, 299 AC
"Sesa!" Rud whispered, "Did you see anything?"
"No," she answered making her way over to him, her torch illuminating her face in the dark underbelly of the Red Keep. "Everything is quiet. The Tyrells are in their rooms so are the Stormlanders, but the halls are littered with their footmen."
Over the morning there had been a disturbing silence within the Red Keep, not many were seen wandering the halls except for the assortment of Westerlanders, Stormlanders, Reachmen, and Gold Cloaks. The same men who had been at each other's necks merely weeks before were now marching the halls of the Red Keep in unison.
Even from above where the walls were thick and the distance long he could hear the constant pattering of feet, it sounded so close, and that did not reassure him.
"Still the same?" Sam was the youngest of their group of Little Birds, he was all of seven and the newest addition. Their group had once been made of a dozen little birds the oldest of them being Rock who was four and ten, but they had deserted once the Spider had been murdered. Rud, Sesa, and Sam had chosen to stay behind.
The death of the Spider had come suddenly and shocked everyone, especially the ones who worked under him. Another group of birds had found a blood trail leading from the Spider's chambers to King Joffrey's. Lord Varys was many things but he wasn't sloppy nor was he like to get killed off easily. He was murdered and the killer fabricated evidence to make Lord Varys seem the murderer. It had left a bad taste in the mouth of every little Bird there was, after the Mad Queen had launched a purge against the Tyrells and Baratheons many of the remaining Birds had fled the Keep. They once numbered in the hundreds but now Rud would be surprised if there were more than fifty of them waiting for the new master.
Bugger this, Rud thought, "We should leave the Keep. There not a reason for us to stay."
"Leave?" Sesa questioned, "And go where? We have nowhere to go and nothing to do, thats why Lord Varys brought us here in the first place. We need to wait for the new master." Sesa was all of nine and wasn't as experienced as Rud who was ten and had been designated the leader of their group after the other nine of their once dozen-strong group had abandoned them. "Think of it Sesa," Sam started, "most of the others have left by now, what reason is there for us to stay? We could steal some bread from the kitchens before we go."
"No," Rud said, "Too risky, there may be soldiers in the kitchens too."
"Aye," Sam murmured in agreement.
"I'm not going!" Sesa said.
Rud approached her fastly, "We have to, lest we go hungry. The new master will not arrive for a while, we have better chances if we go."
Sesa looked down hope fading from her dark brown eyes, he brought a finger to her small chin and raised it, "We have to do something. Do you trust me?" She nodded, "Good," he said, "I'll keep you safe, both of you I promise."
He took the torch from her hands and looked toward the stairwell that Sesa had just come from, it led to one of the fastest and surest ways out of the Red Keep but if they went that way they would end up in Fleabottom, the place Varys had saved them from. That was not his idea of protecting them.
He then looked the other way where the outline of Balerion the Black Dread was prominent within the darkness. Past the dragon head was another stairwell, it led to the battlements but he believed that it could also lead out of the Keep and into Fishmongerers Square where they could steal some food from merchants. "This way."
They made their way across the large underbelly of the Red Keep and up the stairwell. He heard the muffled sounds of boots hitting the ground in unison in a fast manner but those boots were not beating the ground near as fast as his heart was. With every step he climbed the boots only grew louder and louder.
His breath hitched as a loud crashing sound came from the top of the rotating stairs. It sounded as if hundreds of bricks had suddenly come crashing down, then he heard the loud sounds of boots running down the steps.
He turned around and saw the frightened faces of his two companions, "Back, back!"
They needed no encouragement and hastened down the steps. The sound of footsteps was only growing louder behind them. He looked behind him and saw the silhouette of their helms as they raced down the steps. He considered putting the torch out but the men chasing them likely had torches as well.
He tripped on one of the stairs and came crashing down upon Sesa, she let out a wail of pain. He picked himself up from her, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said in a voice louder than it should've been. He picked up the torch.
She raised after him, and her hand clutched to her knee, she was bleeding. Rud noticed that Sam was missing, he had not stopped after hearing them fall. "Come on," he said.
They began their descent once more the footsteps from above sounding as if they were right behind them.
They ran out of the stairwell and back into the dark caverns of the Red Keep where Sam was on the ground in a pool of his own blood his once bright blue eyes now a grim sight. Rud looked around at the many footmen who surrounded them like predators waiting to pounce on their prey, there were two men in Kingsguard armor looking right at them. One Kingsguard who must've been half the size of the man beside him spoke in a Westerlander accent, "Tell the King that the Dragonpit has been cleared. Dog, take care of these two."
The large man approached his face half scarred, "Please don't-" they both cried but it was too late and the large man's greatsword fell down upon them.
Barristan's face was pale as he traveled up the steps to the King's chambers. Blood coating his armor. He had organized the operation against Varys' little birds, and he had been confident that it would succeed and it did, but shortly before the operation kicked off the king gave the order that no prisoners would be taken. Most of them were children, and most were more than like innocent of the crimes the King had pinned on them. Treason against the crown the conspiracy to destabilize the Realm. But it wasn't only the executions that disturbed him, it was what they found in the tunnel leading beneath the Dragonpits.
He shook his head at the reminder, gods the screams!
He squeezed his fists and clenched his jaw reminded of the screams from all those years ago…
He had barely noticed he was standing before the King's chambers staring blankly at the oaken door. He pinched his forehead before knocking.
"Enter," was the only response he received.
He pushed the King's door open and walked from room to room where the King's study was, and unsurprisingly, the King was hunched over his desk scribbling something down on parchment. The King did not ignore him entirely as he quickly finished whatever he was writing and pushed it ahead of him crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
"You wanted to speak to me?"
"Yes, your Grace," the King gestured and Ser Barristan continued, "We found… we found wildfire beneath the Keep, hundreds of canisters of… it's wildfire your Grace, and it's been there for some time."
The King paled somewhat as he uncrossed his arms and was silent in thought for a moment.
Barristan couldn't help but compare Tommen to past Kings, he was neither a drunk nor a whoremonger like Robert. Or perhaps he was, he had appointed a brothel to keep to the Council after all. He was no Aerys for that he was certain, though time did change Kings. He couldn't compare Tommen to Joffrey based on Kingship, but in character, they seemed to be stark opposites, Tommen was typically calm while Joffrey was impulsive, Tommen also spent more time in the training yard than his brother, Joffrey had attempted to learn to fight, but he simply lacked discipline and often was not to be seen using his sword. The closest comparison he could get to Tommen would be King Egg, though perhaps not, the Old Knight did not know Aegon well but he did not think him capable of murdering children. Rhaegar was more of an apt comparison but Rhaegar was never the King. Tommen is his own man- or well boy, he realized, he wasn't sure that was a good thing.
Over his time as a member of the Kingsguard, Barristan had learned that a good King must listen to their advisors, or often time they will end up failing. Tommen had not listened to his advisors much, and seemed to act in accordance to his own will, a worrying thing.
He stared at the King's crown for a moment, lying atop a book, it was an antlered crown much like the one on his helm but on the band of the Crown was the seven-pointed star, on the right of it was the prancing Stag and to the left was the roaring Lion. He had been crowned by the High Septon two days prior in the Sept, realizing his position as King.
Finally, the King spoke breaking his stupor, "Wildfire…" he muttered, "I- uh," He cleared his throat, "I suppose I'll have Tyrion contact the guild and find a way for safe removal and somewhere to keep it. For now, guard it."
"Yes, your Grace."
"And, of your operation, did it go well?"
"Y-yes your Grace, forty-four were found and dealt with per your orders."
"Only forty? Hmm. Well, I suppose what's done is done." The king grabbed the parchment in front of him and handed it to the old Knight. "I want you to travel there tomorrow morning and retrieve the two of them for me. It's a small stone keep with a windmill, shouldn't be too troublesome to find."
Barristan looked down at it, it was a map with some directions leading to what he supposed would be a place at least a dozen miles south of Kings Landing. "Who am I to retrieve?"
"Arya Stark, and my man Ser Addam Hill,"
Barristan looked away from the parchment and into the King's eyes, "Your Grace! What-"
The King interrupted him, "I had Arya retrieved from the Red Keep shortly after her father was thrown in the dungeons. It was for her own protection, I feared what Joffrey would do to her and saved her life. Now that Joffrey is dead there is no use for her to remain outside of the Keep."
Though Tommen had admitted something akin to treason he was now the King and so Barristan simply dismissed it, "As you command your Grace." He bowed and turned to leave before the King spoke again.
"Oh and one more thing, when we march, I'd like for you to take Martyn and Willem for squires. They're good boys, shouldn't give you trouble I imagine."
"Martyn and Willem? Not you, your Grace?"
The King smiled faintly, "Perhaps in the past, I would've preferred your tutelage, but my uncle taught me to fight. In a sort, I'm his squire already. When the war is done I want him to be the one to knight me."
"Of course, your Grace." Perhaps Tommen was still a boy in some ways the Old Knight mused.
Bran POV: Seventh Day of the Twelfth Moon, 299 AC
Cold, that was the only way to describe it as he paced down the endless passageways. A bone-breaking chill that disturbed more than just his skin. Even covered in his Northern furs and his thick leather boots he still felt as if he were completely bare in these bitter halls. The corridors were not familiar as they were painted red and covered in tapestries of dragons and battles. As he turned down yet another passageway he turned his attention to the artwork that covered the halls, people were bare, men and women alike engaging in acts that were reminiscent of the Kingslayer and the Queen.
He felt a tightening in his chest at the reminder of them, and how the Kingslayer had pushed him out of the tower. He remembered how the man had smiled as he did it, the man haunts me. Bran wondered if it was secretly the Kingslayer's hold over him that kept him silent, he had told no one the truth. They all assumed he had fallen so he went along with the truth they wanted to believe and not the real truth. He kept it to himself to protect Sansa, Arya, and his father. If Lord Robb had learned the truth of how he fell from the tower and how it had left him paralyzed unable to become either a knight he would have killed every Lannister there was. The same fate would befall his family in Kingslanding if the Lannisters were to die, he knew.
I must protect my family like father does, even if it means the people who hurt me aren't brought to justice.
He felt himself shiver when he turned another corridor and the halls he walked somehow got colder than they were before, he considered turning around but he knew that this was the way to go. To where? He did not know, though he hoped for warmth. He stared enviously at the torches that were only a few feet above him, they were close enough to where he could feel the promise of warmth, but too far up to where he could not reach them no matter how high his legs jumped.
The cold unnerved him along with the silent halls, he felt as if the halls were watching him the paintings too, he felt as if they were coming alive behind him and that only made him quicken his pace. He shrunk within himself trying to numb the fear and pretend it wasn't there. I am the son of Eddard Stark, I am a Northerner. Cold should not frighten me so…
But I'm also a child of summer…
He jumped at the sound of scurrying feet as he turned the corridor. His eyes traveled everywhere around him and despite the torchlit halls providing plenty of light he could see no one. After what felt like minutes of scanning behind and in front of him he proceeded cautiously as he found a flight of stairs and began to step up them. 'AHH!' A muffled scream broke the silence that had permeated itself within the halls. Bran felt himself shrink and brace to the cold wall his eyes scanning his surroundings. As he looked upwards he noticed nothing that should be of disturbance, the stairs were carpeted with red yet the silver stones shown on either side of the furnishings. The walls were painted with dragons burning cities and men and women wearing no clothes while they were wrestling. Odd. After what felt like an eternity the screams ended but Bran stayed there his chest going up and down in a constant state of panic. He stayed there for some time like a scared maiden. I am a Stark of Winterfell! What would father think of such cowardice? He slowly rose, bracing the wall to keep from losing his balance and he started to climb the steps once more.
Once he reached the top of the stairs it seemed he finally reached some warmth and while still barely within the stairway he studied the room in which he appeared. It was more of a connecting room he noticed. There was a large oaken door right across from him and when he looked to either side of the room there were no doors or windows. Only a few tables and the same art that had displayed themselves upon the walls. There was a rug with a three headed black dragon, the banner of House Targaryen.
He rubbed his hands together trying to keep them warm but it was of little use. After considering for some time he mustered his courage and approached the door. The door was cold but he was not stupid enough to go in without hearing what was behind it first, he pressed his ear to the cold oaken door and heard nothing. He lingered there for a while, listening as no sound was produced from the other side and he eventually mustered his courage. He slowly pushed open the door and was thankful to be greeted by an even warmer room than the one he had just come from.
He closed the door behind him as he looked around the new territory. It was covered with more red and black colors but there was a noticeably lesser amount of tapestries, he saw several hunting weapons lining the walls and a banner with a red sun pierced by a spear, the sigil of House Martell. There were no torches but there was a hearth as he went into a connecting room with a couch sat before it. The couch held nothing except for a few pillows and furnishings but the table before it held half drunken wine goblets.
After looking around the room for some time he eyed a door on the other side of the room only a paces away from the hearth.
He once again pressed his ear to the thick oaken door and once again heard nothing and while he thought that should've been reassuring it only unnerved him further. He took a deep breath and slowly pressed the door open, it made a heavy creaking noise as it did.
The room was dark except for a few lit candles and the open window letting in the light from the stars and the city below. He walked further into the room and saw several chairs near a hearth off to the side of the room. There were again many hunting items including a spear. His eyes wandered along the painted orange walls and came across a four-poster bed. Its curtains were closed but it sent a shiver of unease through him. Unwillingly, his legs led him to the bed and the hands that had been placed firmly at his sides followed their own will and parted the curtains.
The smell hit him and he recoiled from it, coughing a storm. He struggled to catch his breath as a rotting smell filled the room. After what felt like minutes of both gathering breath and sufficient will he kept his hand at his nose and looked to the bed.
It was a corpse naught but bones. The wrists and ankles were bound by what appeared to be the roots of plants, tens of them circling the legs and arms keeping the corpse pinned to the bed. He turned his attention to the skull, he almost didn't notice it but there seemed to be a deep gash at the bone of the neck. Out of the eye sockets flowers bloomed.
BOOM!
An earsplitting sound blew its way into the chambers. Bran brought his hands to his ears, after the booming sound subsided and sounds of muffled screams filled its place. Bran slowly brought his hands away from his ears and the screams became louder, he looked away from the bed and noticed the green aura that had developed itself within the room.
He cautiously approached the window a fear that should have surely broken him but his legs worked without his consent and continued despite his trepidations.
On the window sill, he noticed a black crow cawing sounding more hideous than the screams that had only increased in their volume. He looked past the raven and out of the window where green and yellow flames had enveloped a small part of the city. He could tell the building that had once sat there was massive from the amount of space it had taken up. He felt the icy cold envelop him once more, and a great bellow emerged from the tattered ruins of the once-standing structure. Upon hearing the sound, Bran felt a fear greater than any other. It drowned out the ravens cawing and the peoples screaming. It sounded as if a great beast released a deafening roar. Bran felt his knees grow numb and weak as he collapsed to the floor and the great beasts bellow subsided. The Crows' cawing only intensified as a third eye opened up between the two black ones. He felt his eyes roll back into his skull and his breath leave him as he woke.
"Hodor," Hodor greeted from in front of his bed.
Bran regained his breath as his hands gripped at the furs beside him propping up his crippled form. He was drenched in sweat creating a coolness of its own. Bran regained his bearings as Hodor repeated his name.
"Hodor," Bran breathed out. "Help me to my bath."
After Bran was bathed he broke his fast with Maester Luwin in the Great Hall, unfortunately, Rickon was not there to join them yet again, he had become as wild as Shaggydog and stayed in the Wolfswood with the wolves after they had been contained there because Shaggydog had bitten Little Walder.
The day went by rather quickly as some Lords strode into the castle walls later than expected. Bran for a while watched enviously from above as Little Walder and Big Walder fought under the direction of Rodrick Cassel. However, the fighting ended earlier than Bran wanted because Big Walder and his brother would often time go against the direction of Ser Rodrick and he finally snapped and sent them to their rooms. Bran went to his chambers where Maester Luwin soon joined him teaching him of the many Houses in the Riverlands, their ally.
When Bran asked him about the dream he had earlier that day Luwin simply called it the dream of an over imaginative boy. But the dream had felt so real. When he grasped to the hard stone walls he could feel the cold and rough surface of it. He could remember the repugnant smell of the bones, but what he remembered the most was the explosion and the screams that followed it.
Hours later, when night began its reign over Winterfell Bran was taken to the Great Hall where they would host a feast. He was sat in the seat in the Lords seat, nervously grasping the pommels with wolf heads engraved into them.
The Lords and ladies who had not gone south slowly filtered into the Great Hall as food Bran had never seen before was served course after course. There were great joints of aurochs roasted with leeks, venison pies chunky with carrots, bacon, and mushrooms, mutton chops sauced in honey and cloves, savory duck, peppered boar, goose, skewers of pigeon and capon, beef and barley stew, and cold fruit.
The mixture of spilt wine and ale, along with the several hearths along the walls, candles, and of all the assortments of food created a sweet smell that made his mouth water.
Drinking horns crashed together with thunderous laugher and loud boasting as the feast went on, however a silence engulfed the hall as two more guests arrived.
"Jojen and Meera Reed from Greywater Watch, son and daughter of Lord Howland Reed", the herald announced.
Bran looked on as the two of them dressed in animal pelts approached him, they received many looks from the Lords they passed before kneeling before him.
"Crannogmen," Lord Wyman muttered under his breath.