THOSE WHO SLITHER IN THE DARK

MORGAN

Her greatsword slammed into Asha's axe with brutal force, but unlike other times, her friend managed to keep the weapon in her hand and launched a swift lunge that Morgan managed to dodge somewhat clumsily, trying to keep her distance again. She hadn't practiced for quite some time and it was clearly showing in that fight. Asha's movements were agile and precise, while she was trying to compensate for her lack of skill with brute strength. Asha threw a new blow at her and Morgan repelled it with her forearm. Unlike her friend, she had decided to don heavy armor that she had secretly brought along for the trip. With it, she didn't need a shield at all, each section of that armor was about as tough as stone.

Deep down she knew she could beat her if she wanted to, but she preferred not to. Holding back her immense strength was something she had been doing since the day she split a practice dummy and her wooden sword with a single blow when she was but a child, and she preferred to keep it that way. Even though her weapon wasn't sharp, if she didn't, one wrong move from Asha could result in her breaking her friend's arm or a rib at best, and it was something she planned to avoid at all costs. Besides, training this way helped her improve much more than if she had disarmed her friend with a single slash right off the bat.

"Your moves are slowing down," Asha taunted her. "Are you sure you don't want to take a break?"

Morgan answered her with lunge after lunge that Asha dodged without much difficulty. They had been in the courtyard dancing around each other for several minutes without either of them giving up, although to the eyes of the onlookers watching, Asha might seem to have the upper hand. To anyone's eyes, someone wielding a sword of that size, coupled with the heavy armor she wore, could not last long without being exhausted. She could even see some sweat on Asha's face, and she was wearing only light leather armor with some steel guards. However, Morgan was as fresh as when they had started training. The armor weighed no more than the clothes she usually wore, and for her, wielding the sword was as easy as fighting with a stick.

An almost imperceptible smile appeared on her opponent's face. Morgan was perfectly clear about what Asha was going to do and knew how to counter it without even looking. Her friend charged towards her in a move that would look stupid to anyone watching the fight. She gripped the sword tightly and launched a horizontal slash in her direction. As she had predicted, Asha threw herself to the ground, dodging the slash and sliding all the way to her, at which point she struck her left leg with the axe, causing her to stagger and fall face-first to the ground.

The surprised spectators let out some shouts of surprise that soon turned into applause for the winner. Even if she didn't need it, Morgan gladly took Asha's offered hand and sat up again. By then, most of the spectators were already looking across the arena, looking for further distractions. There, her cousin Tommen and Lord Stark's young son, that Brandon fellow, were fighting with their practice swords, rather awkwardly in her view.

Well, they are just kids.

"Tell me you and I weren't this clumsy when we were young," Asha told her quietly. "I could die of embarrassment just by thinking about it."

"I certainly wasn't. You on the other hand..." replied Morgan.

"Hey!" snorted Asha slapping him on the back. "Haven't you ever been told to respect your elders, young lady?"

"You're not much older than me," replied Morgan.

"I'm four years older than Brienne. And ten than your brother and you. I'm something like a mother so to speak. Or your older sister" she mockingly replied.

"You don't look that old to me, Asha. Besides, for such a big girl you've bitten the dust against me on more occasions than I can count on my fingers. Are you still going to need to walk with a cane any time soon?"

"Gee, what if your parents found out you talk so insolently when they can't hear you?"

"My father couldn't care less, and my mother would probably laugh," Morgan said, turning to watch Tommen and Bran Stark fight. They were wrapped in protectors and more than knights they looked like giant cloth balls. They were snorting and already almost unable to hold their swords, let alone strike or parry their opponent. Winterfell's master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel a burly man with great white whiskers, watched them intently. Beside him, Theon Greyjoy, Asha's brother and ward of the Starks, watched them with an obvious smirk.

"Your brother seems to be having the time of his life," Morgan commented. "Imagine how happy he'd be if he witnessed a real fight."

"He was watching ours. I think the poor guy lost several copper stars" Asha commented with obvious contempt.

"You haven't spoken to him yet?"

"The right occasion hasn't presented itself. But from what I've seen of him it seems that the North has made him rather conceited and stupid."

A shout was heard in the yard. His cousin had rolled off and was trying unsuccessfully to get up. Bran Stark was standing over him with practice sword held high, ready to strike him again as soon as he got up. The men of Winterfell burst out laughing as Morgan felt his face redden with anger behind her helmet. She was about to go over to help him when Asha grabbed her forearm and stopped her before she could intervene.

"Enough!" exclaimed Ser Rodrik. He held out a hand to Tommen and helped him up, while Theon Greyjoy and the rest continued to laugh loudly.

"Hey, Greyjoy!" shouted Asha. "Why don't you stop laughing at some children and show us your prowess? I want to see if here in the North they really teach how to really fight or if you only know how to wield wooden swords."

The laughter stopped and now it was another group of soldiers and squires laughing. As she looked closely, she saw it was none other than her cousin Joffrey and a group of Lannister and Baratheon men who had come with them from King's Landing.

That is the last thing we needed.

Morgan noticed how Theon Greyjoy bristled. Her friend had wounded his pride in front of all his comrades-in-arms and the prince. Asha had him right where she wanted him. Stand down you idiot, before you make a fool of yourself.

He didn't.

"My lady!" exclaimed Greyjoy with a chuckle. "It would not be honorable of me to measure my strength against yours. But if you insist, I will gladly accept your challenge. But I warn you, I do not intend to hold back because you are a woman."

"Are we going to fight or are you going to keep chattering?" asked Asha, who had already finished tightening the straps of her shield again and was once more wielding her axe, adopting a combat stance. "Shall we do it at first blood or would you prefer we use wooden weapons?"

"As you wish, my lady. I hope you will be able to forgive me for what is about to happen, I will try not to hurt that pretty face" Theon replied picking up a dull sword handed to him somewhat reluctantly by the Ser Rodrik. Some of the men of Winterfell laughed at his joke, but most remained silent. Many had just watched the duel between Asha and her.

In Theon Greyjoy's defense, Morgan acknowledged that he held his own against Asha more than she expected.

Lord Stark's ward approached Asha to unload a cautious blow to size up his opponent, or maybe he may have done so to see if he managed to accidentally scratch her with the tip of his sword. Asha stepped back and held her axe with both hands above her head. She parried Theon's blow, then advanced and unloaded her axe against her brother's head. One, two, three, four blows in rapid succession. Theon tried to parry them, but obviously the attack had surprised him, and Asha had more strength than she appeared to have at first sight. The third blow nearly knocked the weapon from his hand, and the fourth caught him in the shoulder, tearing his breastplate and giving him a very shallow cut.

"Argg!" Theon Greyjoy dropped his sword and brought his hand to the wound, from which blood kept gushing.

"Victory!" exclaimed Asha and made a mocking bow to her brother. "I guess now I can claim your betrothed or something, can't I, little Theon?" The anger at the great humiliation he had just suffered disappeared from Theon Greyjoy's face for a slight moment.

"Little The... Where did you hear that? Asha? No, it can't be..." stammered Theon, his bloody hand still on his shoulder.

However, a laugh ruined the emotional reunion between siblings. Well, perhaps emotional wasn't the best word for it, Morgan acknowledged in the face of the bizarre spectacle she was witnessing.

"That's all the best Winterfell has to offer?" scoffed Joffrey. His laughter was followed by some of his men and by his dog, the muscular hulk of a man with a burnt face, Sandor Clegane. "Your best soldier, defeated by one of my uncle's whores?"

If it had been anyone else, Morgan would have leaped on him and cut that filthy head off with a single slash without a second glance. If it were anyone else, but it was Joffrey, her cousin and someday her king. It wasn't the right thing to do. Having those kinds of thoughts wasn't either, but try as she might, she couldn't suppress them when she was with him, which she found terribly frustrating.

"If you want to test our skill, Joffrey, try me," said a red-haired boy. Robb Stark, Morgan quickly identified. He looked fit, which was already more than she could say for her cousin.

"Nice of you to say that, Stark, but I'm sick of games," Joffrey said in a dismissive tone.

"What do you propose then?"

"Real swords, with edge. Not wooden like the children's or blunt like those two. Men's weapons, the kind that would have cut off your friend's arm."

Please, said a little voice inside her. Please accept. Accept and slit his throat open. She closed her eyes to calm herself. If her cousin could bring out the worst in her with just a couple of sentences, then she wasn't ready to be a highborn lady. Though she could not deny that the thought of Tommen becoming the heir had more than once haunted her thoughts.

"Done," Stark agreed without a second thought.

"No! I forbid you!" interjected the master-at-arms, before things could escalate. "Sharp steel is too dangerous, you have seen young Theon's wound with an unsharpened one. I will let you fight with tournament swords, dulled. Nothing more."

"Let me try Ser Rodrik. I can beat him," replied the young Stark, but it was too late. By then the Lannister men had long since burst into laughter.

"Challenge me again when you're older, Stark," said her cousin with a shrug. "Older, eh? Not old."

More and more commotion was building in the courtyard. Already several Stark, Lannister, Baratheon and a few Black Eagles had come over to watch the show. She even caught a glimpse of Lord Stark's bastard and his infant daughter up in the galleries. Even so, the laughter continued even louder until Asha intervened.

"If it pleases your highness, I will be happy to accept your challenge," she said loud enough for all to hear. Her usual mocking tone was completely gone.

"No you won't, Asha" a voice behind her back answered her. A voice that both Morgan and Asha recognized perfectly. Escorted by a pair of Eagles, stood her mother. Her gaze was icy and when her violet eyes landed on her, Morgan knew instantly that she had recognized her behind the visor. "The Black Eagle Strike Force is in charge of keeping the peace in the kingdom, not provoking fights."

Asha grimaced angrily but did not insist. "Yes, my lady. I apologize for my actions."

Tempers seemed to calm gradually and most of those present gradually withdrew as they saw that no fighting was going to happen.

"Come on, Tommen," said Joffrey feigning weariness. "Recess is over. Let's leave the women and children to their things. I'm sure they'll have to get to knitting or something."

That elicited more laughter from the group of Lannisters, who were already leaving, but Morgan didn't even deign to look at them. She was more intent on the angry face of the silver-haired woman approaching them.

"You two, come with me," she said with the same coldness as before. "I believe we have a pending conversation."

ASHA

By order of Edelgard von Hresvelg, commander-in-chief of the Black Eagle Strike Force, Asha Greyjoy was not to leave the quarters assigned to them at Winterfell, or she would be demoted from her rank. In other words, she had been punished. Well, she and Morgan, though she was allowed to wander about the castle, though always guarded by Petra, Hubert or one of the guards. After all, there would be suspicions if the daughter of the lady of Dragonstone disappeared from one day to the next for no apparent reason.

What a bore, Asha thought as she fiddled with her dagger and made it dance between her fingers for the umpteenth time that day.

There was little left of that, since the next morning they would set off again to the South, bound for King's Landing or Dragonstone, as was her case. If it had been up to her, she would have diverted her group to White Harbor and there she would have taken a ship back to the island. The voyage could be a bit of a grind and even a bit dangerous if they ran into any storms, but it would be much quicker and less tiring than enduring another weeks of trekking through wastelands, swamps and quagmires.

Asha let out a long sigh. The road back was the last thing she cared about. In those last days, the only thing she was thinking about, or rather, the only one, was her brother Theon. The brother she hadn't seen for almost ten years, and whose brotherly reunion had consisted of sticking an axe in his shoulder.

"Yeah, I am an asshole," Asha said speaking to the dagger. "I've fucked it all up, and for what, to brag to my little brother? What a great accomplishment."

Lord Stark had been furious when he heard of the incident and Asha had come to hear how he had gone so far as to threaten Lady Edelgard with expelling her and the Black Eagles if there was any further incident. His mood seemed to cool down when Lady Hresvelg told him who Asha was. Lord Stark must have been surprised at that, and Asha did not judge him in the least. After all, the last time he had seen her she had been nothing more than a scrawny, frightened little girl being taken from her home to the other side of the continent.

She was not the only one who had changed. Her little brother Theon, whom she remembered as a shy little boy in a state of continual fear, was now a vain and confident young man. To some extent, she was even happy for him. She knew all too well how Maron and Rodrik had treated him when he was just a boy, always teasing him and even beating him up. She, being a girl, had been left relatively alone, though when they tired of Theon she ended up being their new target. She had no qualms about admitting that she was glad they were both dead, and that her brother had been able to grow up happy in the North.

Too happy.

From what she had heard of him and seen him do, Theon was becoming too much like his late brothers. The way he laughed at the lads when they fought was just like Maron's, and his bravado was just like Rodrik's when he was carrying a couple of tankards of ale. But when she had wounded him in the shoulder and Prince Joffrey had burst out laughing, Asha saw the ten-year-old Theon reflected in that man's face.

She picked up the dagger and threw it against the wooden door. The weapon vibrated loudly as it stuck through the tip. I have to stop worrying about it.

Those days with nothing to do had been hell. Petra had told her to meditate and take the opportunity to reflect. Well, she had already done so, and all she had achieved was to feel bad about herself. She preferred a good mug of beer or a good fight, where there was no time to think twice. There all she was doing was thinking about things over and over again without getting to a clear point.

She got up from her chair, picked up the dagger and holstered it back on her belt. Then, without a second thought, she opened the door.

Let her tell me whatever she wants. I'm one of her generals, not a little girl who doesn't want to eat her breakfast. I will apologize to her a thousand times if I have to, but she can't deny me saying goodbye to my brother before I leave.

To her surprise, there was no guard at her door. Nor did she find anyone in the corridors until she reached the small sitting room where they ate. There, she found Hubert, dull in his black suit. His eyes were fixed on some reports while in his hand he held a half-full cup of coffee. He barely gave her a sidelong glance.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything, Hubert?" asked Asha uneasily.

"That it's about time you got out of there. If you must know, Lady Edelgard bet you wouldn't last two hours in there locked up. Congratulations," he said in a tired monotone voice, though Asha knew him well enough to know that he found that situation very comical. "Would you like some?" he said shaking the cup lightly.

"I'll pass. And how much did you bet?"

"You should know I don't bet. But my predictions were on you holding out for less than an hour. That you hung in there for two whole days is an act that deserves to be recorded in the annals of history."

"Very funny, Hubert. Where is everyone?"

"King Robert and Lord Stark have gone hunting, and Lady Edelgard has gone to the Godswood for a last look. She should still be there if you want to talk to her."

"Has my brother accompanied Lord Stark in search of hares?" asked Asha.

"In search of boars. Why should I know?" Asha arched an eyebrow. "Heh. No, Lord Stark hasn't let him go. He still seems to have discomfort in his shoulder. He's at one of the inns in the Winter City, the Smoky Log, if I remember correctly."

"Thank you, Hubert."

The snake-eyed man gave her a nod and went about his business. At first, Hubert's talent for knowing where everyone was at all times seemed most terrifying, but she had long since gotten used to it. Besides, it was most useful in situations like that.

She walked steadily through the castle courtyard until she reached the rake. She had not been out of Winterfell much since they had arrived, for beyond the small village and a thick forest, there was nothing to catch her interest. One of the guards went to stop her, but he stepped back without a word when he saw the black eagle embroidered on her doublet. In theory, the Black Eagles had royal permission to enter and leave any castle in the kingdom, as did the brothers of the Night's Watch, since they were under direct orders from the king. This was not always the case, but with Robert here Asha did not expect anyone to raise any objections.

She crossed the drawbridge and stepped outside. The day was warm, or at least as warm as it could be in these northern lands. Barring a sizable breeze, in Dragonstone or Landing the weather was considerably warmer. Even in the Iron Islands, Asha could not recall a chill similar to that in midsummer.

Beyond the castle was the market square, or at least that was the name given to it by the inhabitants of that "city". It's no bigger than any of the neighborhoods of New Enbarr or the capital, Asha observed with a smile. Calling this place a city must be some kind of northern joke. Either that, or they've never met a group larger than a thousand people. That last option didn't seem entirely far-fetched to her.

The wooden stalls were set up any which way, and merchants were trying to place wares to the few people who roamed the place, most of whom had come in the king's retinue, Asha noticed.

She walked through the muddy streets aimlessly. The small houses were made of logs and stones, and half of them looked as if they had been uninhabited for at least several years. If there's a fire here, the whole village will burn. Aside from their poor taste in names, the Northerners didn't have much appreciation for the upkeep of their buildings either. If this is the Lord Paramount's castle, what must the rest of them be like? She almost preferred not to think about it. She had to walk three streets to find the Smoking Log, but given the size of the town, that didn't take too long.

A slightly older brunette wench with freckles and prominent breasts greeted her as she entered. She seemed surprised to realize that it was another woman who had come through the door. She must be looking for some brave knight with a large bag of silver deer and copper stars. Surely more than one lion and deer have visited her these days.

"Hello, good woman" greeted Asha with a smile that didn't seem to please the girl. "I'm looking for someone, could you help me?"

"If you don't want a tankard of beer or a room you can bugger off. I'm not your lapdog, bitch," the woman replied smugly. Too bad, I wouldn't have been unhappy to share her bed for a while and show her what a kraken was capable of, though I'm sure she's already tasted one already.

"I'm looking for Theon Greyjoy. I'm sure you know who I'm talking about, a tall, thin, black haired fellow. Always with a smile on his face" Asha said ignoring what she had just told her.

"And what do I care."

Asha approached the woman and pointed to the eagle on her doublet. The woman paled as she realized who she was dealing with.

"Forgive me, my lady. I had not noticed. This... he is in one of the upstairs rooms with... well... He's upstairs occupied, my lady..." the woman stammered nervously.

"Asha Greyjoy. You can spare the lady."

She thought the woman's eyes were going to pop out of her sockets when the woman heard her last name. She kept apologizing and saying incoherent things, so she went upstairs and left her downstairs with her things.

The wooden doors to the upstairs rooms were all the same, but from one of them came a moaning and gasping sound. Right where Hubert said he would be. Her brother wouldn't be recovered enough to go hunting with his bow, but to fuck one of the waitresses in that joint he had plenty of strength left over, it seemed.

Without further ado, Asha kicked open the door and entered the small room. There, rolling around in some woolen sheets, she found her little brother lying on the straw mattress. On top of him was a brunette girl riding what must have been his virile member. At first glance, Asha predicted that the girl would be about her brother's age. The thumping noise startled her, and upon seeing Asha, she quickly covered herself with a blanket and snuggled against her brother, as if he could protect her.

"Hi, little brother, am I interrupting you?" said Asha with a mischievous grin.

"Asha? What are you doing here?" asked her startled brother.

"I was looking for the little brother I love so much who hasn't come to see me these days" he said in a teasing tone. "I see you have been busy with much more important matters than your poor sister."

"Go away, Kyra," Theon told her. The fear seemed to have disappeared and now her cheeks were as red as a tomato. She clutched the blanket tightly, as if Asha was going to try to pull it off at any moment. The idea of doing so seemed very tempting to her.

The girl timidly got up, blanket in hands and went to find her clothes, lying around the room. That she was trying to pick up her clothes with one hand while trying to keep the blanket covering her up made the situation very comical. As she went to leave, Asha stepped on the edge of the sheet and it slipped out of the girl's hand, leaving her naked in the hallway. She sure is pretty cute, Asha thought before closing the door and leaving her there without the girl having time to react beyond giving a little moan. At least Theon has good taste.

"Sweet Kyra. In bed she's like a weasel, but the rest of the time she's shy as a maiden," her brother said with a laugh.

"You'll have to introduce her to me before I leave. I think I've left the poor thing terrified."

"What did you want to talk about, Asha?" asked Theon.

"About life, I suppose. Isn't that what you're supposed to do at family gatherings?"

"Why, and here I thought they consisted of axing each other's siblings," scoffed Theon pointing to the bandage covering the wound on his shoulder.

"Oh, please. Forgive me for humiliating you in front of your little northern friends. You should really thank me, maybe from now on they'll teach you how to really fight."

"Ser Rodrik is a good teacher. You surprised me, that's all. Next time I'll make you bite the dust" replied Theon in annoyance.

"Whatever you say, little brother. But you should take my advice, that mustached man knows better how to use a staff than a sword."

"Do you know anything about father?" asked his brother, bypassing Asha's scathing comment and radically changing the subject.

"Absolutely nothing, not one letter in all these years. I was hoping you would know more about him," Asha said sincerely. The first few years at Dragonstone, Asha had persistently asked Maester Cressen to let her send letters to her father at Pyke one week after another, telling her father of her progress in her training, but none received a reply from the Lord Reaper of Pyke, so she simply stopped insisting.

"Same to you. Uncle Rodrik wrote me a letter once, but I didn't answer him. But of the rest I know nothing."

"Uncle Rodrik wrote to me, too. Several times, in fact. We're still corresponding. You should write to him sometime, I'm sure it would cheer him up, and it would cheer up our lady mother, too."

"Our mother?" asked Theon somewhat confused.

"Ever since she lost Maron and Rodrik and we were sent away she hasn't been the same" Asha told him. "Or so our uncle tells me. Grief has clouded her mind."

"It's terrible. I...I had no idea, I swear. I'll write to Pyke as soon as I get back to the castle, this very afternoon," Theon said sorrowfully.

"I would send the raven to Ten Towers if I were you. Mother has been there for some years now. She has taken in ward after ward as her mind deteriorated" Asha informed him.

"I will ask Lord Stark to let me go to Harlaw before he departs south. Let him set an escort for me if he wills, or else let her come to Winterfell."

"Let me doubt it, Theon. Your dear Lord Stark will tell you that his oath to Robert won't allow it or some other nonsense."

"And do not Lord Stannis and Lady Edelgard say the same to you? I don't see the kraken on your clothes, Asha, I only see their eagle embroidered. And no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise you are only their hostage," Theon said with a resentment that Asha was quite surprised.

"Have you also believed Lord Stark's lies? I will not harm the reputation of Lady Edelgard and Lord Stannis for a father and uncles who despise me and a mother who may not even recognize my face," Asha replied. It truly pained her not to be able to return to Harlaw to see her mother and Uncle Rodrik, and even if she were allowed to, her work in the Black Eagle Strike Force was becoming increasingly important and she had no time to take such liberties. Accompanying Lady Edelgard on this trip to Winterfell was the greatest indulgence she had given herself in recent years.

"My lord...my lord..." The door opened again and the girl's head peeked out, already dressed by the looks of it. Even so, she didn't look up from the floor and her cheeks were still flushed.

"I'm not in the mood now Kyra" replied Theon indifferently.

"But my lord... I think something has happened my lord. I'm not quite sure, but there seems to be a lot of movement in the castle, all the men are very restless, I thought you should know. Something may have happened or..."

"I'm sure it will be the Fat King, he's probably back from hunting by now. But well, I suppose we'd better get back for the feast," said Theon sitting up and beginning to dress very parsimoniously.

"No... sorry, my lord Theon but I don't think that's it. You see, the king passed this way on his way to the forest and has not yet returned. It must be something else" the girl insisted.

"Thank you for the information, Kyra" Asha told her to calm down. "My brother is very grateful."

"Your brother? Are you...? Pardon my lady, I did not recognize you before. Excuse me" the girl said, more nervous even than when she had entered and retreated again. Damn with the girl, she could stop apologizing at some point.

Theon finished dressing and they returned to the castle at last. As Kyra had informed them, there seemed to be movement around the castle. The merchants in the square had left their stalls and she watched as some came sniffing around the fortress. Stranger still was that when they arrived at the guard post, they found no one watching. Well that sure is strange. Did someone die when I left and I didn't hear about it?

Her thoughts turned out to be surprisingly right, or at least quite right on track. Under one of the half-ruined towers a large crowd had gathered, including peasants, Winterfell men, Baratheon, Lannister, and some of her fellow Black Eagles. She and Theon pushed their way through the crowd and as they reached the front Theon could not hold back a shout.

"Bran!" shouted his brother, tears beginning to stream down his face. Asha had to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from coming any closer.

Lying there, surrounded by a grief-stricken Lady Stark and her sisters, and with his legs bent at a grotesque angle, was Brandon Stark. The Maester of Winterfell was tending to him and trying to contain the blood flowing from the wounds in the boy's legs. The queen, the Kingslayer, as well as Lady Edelgard, Hubert and Morgan, among others, were also witnessing what had happened.

Asha turned her gaze again to the boy, who if it were not for the lower part of his body would appear to be sleeping. It is as if he were in a peaceful sleep... may be that... Asha watched his chest rise and fall slightly, almost imperceptibly, but with a steady rhythm.

He is still alive.

HUBERT

In the cold darkness of the night, a wolf howled. The sound echoed off the buildings, trees and stone walls. There was something unearthly, sinister about the howl. To some men it would be so frightening that it might tear out their hearts and send them weeping into their mothers' arms. Not him. He found it mysterious and somewhat enchanting, but at that moment what he found it to be was a nuisance.

If he keeps howling he'll wake up the whole castle. Maybe he already has, Hubert thought as he wandered through one of the castle courtyards, hidden in the shadows of the night. Since the boy had fallen from the tower five days ago, the wolf had not stopped howling under his window day and night. Occasionally the rest of the beasts would join in his howls, as if singing a melody in an attempt to get the boy back on his feet. From the last he had heard of the boy's condition, it could be said that it had worked. According to the maester of Winterfell, the danger of death had passed, though it was not entirely clear whether the boy would awaken or remain asleep until the end of his days. If Linhardt were here he would have treated him much better than that old man, Hubert thought. And he could tell everyone what he saw in that tower. Despite Lady Edelgard's insistence, Lindhardt had refused to come to the North, not even trying to make any kind of excuse beyond the laziness he felt. Anyway, knowing Ned Stark he would not have let him near his son even at a time like this. What a proud idiot.

Ser Jory Cassel, the Captain of Lord Stark's personal guard gave him a wry and somewhat mocking smile as he passed him, but Hubert gave him no more than a condescending glance and passed him by, melting back into the shadows. He knew all too well what that look meant, and he had no time to waste that night, especially not with that sort.

In his humble opinion, the trip to Winterfell had been nothing but a complete waste of time. His lady wanted to try to mend relations with Lord Stark, in addition to Constance's investigations, but it seemed that more than that she had made them worse. We should have sent Constance and Ferdinand, he has a natural talent for dealing with proud and arrogant nobles, and we have plenty of that in this castle. He had more important matters to deal with in King's Landing, but once his lady was set on something, he had no choice but to obey her orders. Besides, it wouldn't have been wise to leave her alone in this rat's nest either.

After walking a few more minutes he reached the place he was looking for, the old tower from which the boy had "fallen", the Broken Tower, as the inhabitants of the castle called it. He took a last look around to check that no one had followed him and put on the mask he was carrying tucked between the folds of his coat. It had dark glass eyes that hid his eyes and a conical beak-like nose that distorted his voice when he spoke, a design very similar to the masks of the Vestra's magical engineers, or at least that's how he remembered them. He then donned the hood, concealing the rest of his features.

Among the ruins of the first floor, hidden among some dusty and moldy crates, was a wooden trapdoor leading to what must have once been a storage room. As he lifted it, the trapdoor creaked loudly, but gave way without too much difficulty. It had been opened before, after all. He descended the ladder and there, illuminated only by the light of a few dim candles, he found three men.

The first of these was Clayton Suggs, a short, stocky man with an almost bald head except for a few hairs on the back of his neck. Hubert had encountered him in the suburbs of the Flea Bottom several years ago. For a knight, he was of humble origins and his finances were rather poor, so bringing him into his service had been fairly straightforward. The other, Harwyn Plumm, whom the men called Hardstone, was taller and had more hair than his companion. He was the third son of a great house, so it was rather unlikely that he would inherit any titles, and so persuading him had not been too complicated either. Between the two of them they had a third man restrained, and Ser Clayton was holding his head, submerged in a bucket of water as the man tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free.

"We were expecting you, my lord," said Harwyn.

"He was sleeping in the stables, just as we supposed," added Suggs. "Between the hay and the horses' shit."

He would have congratulated them on their work, if only they had been more competent. Hubert waved his hand for them to pull the man's head out of the water. He took a sharp intake of breath as soon as he came up, trying to catch as much air as he could. Hubert took in his face. Blond hair, sunken eyes, pale skin... nothing remarkable. A skinny young man wearing nothing but dirty brown clothes. He had a broken nose and several bruises on his face, as well as several missing teeth. He didn't look familiar. He was probably just someone who had joined the king's retinue on his passage along the Kingsroad, seeking his fortune. Poor devil.

"Help...!" the man tried to shout, but Cayton Suggs punched him in the stomach, silencing him before he could articulate a word.

"Shut up you scum, or I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to you in pieces."

"No need to go to such extremes, Ser Clayton," Hubert interrupted him. "Tell me boy, who do you work for?"

The boy said nothing, but Hubert clearly saw the fear in his gray eyes. He made another gesture to Suggs, who put the man's head back in the bucket.

"He was carrying a bag with ninety silver deer, my lord. And also this," Harwyn said, handing him a dagger. The hilt was made of a strange material, and the blade was of a steel with a strange blackish hue.

"Valyrian steel, my lord" added Harwyn, confirming Hubert's suspicions. There was no way a whippersnapper like this could have obtained Valyrian steel. In fact, he could count on the fingers of one hand the people who could have access to such a weapon in this castle. That confirmed the information Ser Harwyn had relayed to him the previous evening, though he needed his prisoner to verify it. He gestured again for Suggs to lift the man before he choked.

"Please, please I..." Ser Clayton hit him again and the man fell to the floor on his knees.

"Tell me boy," Hubert demanded again. "Where did you get this dagger? Who gave it to you? Did you steal it?"

"No, I swear it. I... I'll tell you, I'll tell you everything. Don't hurt me, please."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Simple, isn't it?"

"Who... Who are you? Did the Spider send you?"

"Something like that," Hubert replied. "Now tell me, who gave you this dagger?"

"It was... it was the prince. Prince Joffrey. I didn't steal it, I swear to you" he said with his voice cracking.

"Then why did he give it to you? What did he want you to do with it?" inquired Hubert.

"He ordered me to kill the Stark boy. He told me to do it in a few days' time, as soon as all the king's party had gone. It was mercy, the boy is dead already. It was only mercy..."

"Did he tell you the reason?"

"Mercy, my lord. It was only mercy... The boy... if he wakes up he will be a cripple. Death is far better..." the man said through tears.

That boy is pure cruelty and stupidity. He was far from being a stranger to the crown prince's personality, but this was the first time he had received information that he had ordered an assassination, which he found extremely disturbing. Clearly he had not pushed the boy from the tower personally, as he was accompanying his "father" on the hunt. Does he know about the incest? Does he know who his real father is? No, it can't be that, if it were the whole kingdom would know by now. That little monster talks too much.

"I thank you for the information. For that alone, I will be merciful to you." The boy breathed a sigh of relief, and Ser Clayton and Ser Harwyn looked at him somewhat puzzled.

"Ser Clayton, dispose of him, and may they not find his body." He glanced sideways at the disfigured and foul-smelling corpse hidden in one of the nooks and crannies of the room. His brown hair, beard and mustache were still visible, but little else. He had been dead and decaying for several days, but no one had missed him, as was to be expected. After all, no one searched for someone who hadn't disappeared. "Throw the other one away too, lest someone find him when we leave. I think it goes without saying to be discreet, understood?"

"Yes, my lord," Clayton Suggs said with a sly grin.

"What? Mmmpf!" the boy tried to shout, but Sir Clayton quickly covered his mouth with his hand before he could articulate a word.

"Weren't you going to grant him mercy, my lord?" asked Harwyn, somewhat confused.

"He's seen your faces, or haven't you noticed? I won't risk that he might recognize you and rat you out to the prince or the queen," he replied, reminding him of the obviousness.

"I... my apologies, my lord," Harwyn said, acknowledging his mistake. "It will not happen again."

Hubert nodded and climbed the stairs again. As he returned to the first floor of the tower he glimpsed the first rays of the new day's sun beginning to peek over the top of the castle's stone walls. Hubert sighed. Deep down he knew that acts like this were quite useless. Would Lord Stark thank them for saving his son's life? Would he believe a word they said if they told him? Hubert knew the answer all too well. Still, Lady Edelgard had asked him to stop the assassination attempt and gather what information he could, and that he had done.

With a leisurely pace, he made his way to the common room of the guesthouse, watching as the castle began to awaken and fill with life. With his work done, he didn't even bother to hide the slightest bit from the curious eyes watching him. Only Bernadetta knew this, but there were times when he found the role he been entitled to play extremely exhausting. No, the role he had chosen to play. Being Edelgard's Shadow was not too well regarded, neither here nor in Fodlan, but it was a necessary job. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his work, he certainly did, but it had taken him further away from his family than he would have liked. Maybe someday someone would take his place, but there was still a hell of a lot of work ahead of him for that.

A few minutes later, Hubert took his seat in the common room which, except for a few early risers, was practically deserted. Like the previous days, he had chosen a secluded table, cleared around it to grant them room and privacy. Because of Lady Edelgard's status, the Black Eagles could perfectly well have been seated at the head table next to the royal family, but discretion was preferable. A brush of cloth announced the arrival of Constance, who took a seat next to him.

"Mmm," Constance said with a yawn. "I see you're back to being first at the table for another day - have you ordered breakfast yet, Hubert?"

As if she had heard her question, a maid arrived with the glass of milk and porridge he had ordered a short while ago.

"Put the same for me, please. And make the milk nice and hot, and with plenty of sugar" Constance requested. "Tell me, have you questioned the murderer yet? Who had sent him?"

"I have" replied Hubert dryly. "I'll tell you about it if Lady Edelgard sees fit."

"Come on, don't be like that!" protested Constance angrily, though she tried not to raise her voice too much. "You say that as if you don't trust me after all these years."

"Ehm." He was about to remind her of her recent run-in with Lord Stark, who rather than helping it had make them a target in the Northerner's eyes, but the woman interrupted him before he had time to speak.

"No! Don't answer. I find it terribly disrespectful of you. We all go out of our way to try to help Edelgard with her plans, and it doesn't seem to me that sharing a little information is so much to ask."

"All right, all right," Hubert soothed her. Despite her eccentricities, it was undeniable that she had done more for her lady's cause than he could ever have imagined. "Not that it's too important either, though. But before that let me ask you one thing, have you discovered anything new regarding those trees?"

"Gee, for once you don't know everything, heh?" said Constance quietly. "Well let me tell you, they have turned out most interesting, from a theoretical point of view at least. From Storm's End to here, they are all connected to each other by the same magic, there is no doubt about it. What I still don't understand is why, or what the connection is to the spell that brought us here."

We're still too far away then, Hubert thought. His chances of getting back home were still remote, to say the least. It didn't matter, either. Westeros was as much home to them as Fodlan had been, or even more so to many of them. Even if they could return, Hubert was certain that most would not.

"What are you two up to?" said a voice from behind him. Young Morgan's violet eyes looked at them in amused tones and in an instant she was seated across from them, accompanied by her mother, Petra and the rest of her small detachment.

"Chaos and ruin. The fall of kings and empires, ahaha! Well, that and Hubert was about to tell me who threw the little Stark off that tower" said Constance. He glanced sideways at Edelgard, who gave her a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"Not exactly," explained Hubert. He was sure of the loyalty of all the men and women sitting there, but he didn't trust them all to be able to keep their tongues shut. He looked at the young Greyjoy and she seemed to understand what he wanted to tell her. Keep your mouth shut for once, Asha. "I found out yesterday that someone has tried to assassinate young Brandon before he wakes up." He was glad to see that almost none of them were surprised to hear her words.

"I've talked to some of the soldiers in the garrison and they all said the Stark boy had never fallen before. Surely he saw or heard something, something important," Ser Richard Horpe said, as if Hubert hadn't known that for days.

"Theon told me the same thing. There's no way the boy fell, someone threw him off and now that person wants to finish it off" Asha added.

"Yes, I believe the same thing, but it's not the same person who had ordered him killed" Hubert told them, without mentioning his assumptions about the real cause of the boy's accident. That information would only distract Lady Edelgard from her purpose and would spoil many of our plans. For the now she must not know. "The one who wanted to end his life was our dear prince, Joffrey." If he had caused them no surprise before, they were now visibly confused.

"It is not possible," Petra said. "Joffrey was on the hunt that very day, why would he want him dead?"

The others contributed similar comments except for two. Lady Edelgard listened thoughtfully with her head resting on her clasped hands, but also seemed confused at the revelation. The only one who was not was her daughter, folding her arms and looking serious.

"I'm not sure of his intentions, but I think..."

"To him it's nothing more than a diversion," Morgan cut him off, gruffly. "He enjoys killing and watching others suffer. He must have done it to hurt Robb Stark or something like that."

"He's only thirteen, Morgan. Your cousin is incapable of even thinking of such things," Edelgard replied, though her countenance betrayed that she was not entirely sure of her words.

"You have no idea how cruel he can be, mother" objected Morgan. "If you knew the things he says about Shireen..."

"A lot of people say things about your sister, but that doesn't make them murderers."

"Sorry, Mother. It's as you say," Morgan replied coldly, settling the argument to her mother's frustration. She's stubborn, like her parents. But she needs to channel that temper into something more useful than being just another court lady. It seemed all too obvious to Hubert that that path was not the right one for her, but the young woman was determined to follow it.

"I must agree with young Morgan," Hubert said, correcting his mistress. "I can't think of many other ways the assassin would have managed to have this." He pulled out the Valyrian steel dagger and placed it on the table, showing it to the rest.

"What is it?" asked Asha Greyjoy.

"It'sLittlefinger's dagger," Morgan answered quickly. "My Uncle Robert, pardon, the king, won it gambling at the last tournament."

"Well then, we'll have to keep an eye on my nephew from now on in light of what we've seen." Edelgard picked up the dagger, weighing what to do with it. "Keep it for the time being, Petra. If Robert notices its absence, I will return it to him."

"I'll put it to good use," said Brigid's princess, strapping it to her belt.

"Well, all this conversation has given me an appetite," said Constance, tired of the subject. "Where on earth would that girl have got to with my breakfast?"