TOMMEN
"The call of the rooster was much louder up close. A red, shrill, ululating yet hoarse sound which carved through the air like a saw coming from Tecker's beak.
U-U-RU-UUUUUU!
The day was still early and bright, and Tommen stood looking at the hens in the henyard with Ardon. His mother May was standing and mucking away the hens' poop inside the grey wooden walls of the henhouse.
"You feed him", Ardon said, holding his hand open with corn and barley toward Tommen.
Tommen took a handful and threw it at the ground closest to his favourite chicken, Gullan. Gullan looked at him with curious eyes, and then bent her head down and picked at the food with great appetite.
Gullan was Tommen's favourite hen in the whole world. She was a beautiful golden yellow and white hen, large and plump and with golden and white feathering on her wings, a white and black cravatt around the base of her neck and a cream white on most of her body and neck and head. Her comb was still small, red and neat. She had been a large chicken only three moons ago, and he had seen her as often as he was allowed to ever since she was a little baby chicken, being able to sit in his hand, and then she had become a youngling chicken, strutting about faster and faster, and then a large chicken, but now she was an entirely grownup hen, big and fat and much different, but somehow still the same, at least in her eyes which looked at him with the same look, he thought.
She was golden, yes, at least a little bit, and thereby her name, and also because she looked somewhat like a seagull on her beak, from the pictures he had seen. He had never seen a gull himself; not in Winterfell, which was so far away from the sea at Sea Dragon Point or the Rock.
Tommen liked looking in Maester Luwin's books more than anything, to see all of the animals there were. Winterfell had a lot of animals, to be sure. There were the horses, of course, and the ravens, and the dogs in the kennel and the stable cats, the sheep, pigs and hens, and then all the birds and squirrels in the godswood, and the crows at the Broken Old Tower, and the pine marten that he had seen once sitting on a branch in the tree just outside of the castle walls, and hares and hedgehogs that came hiding underneath the bushes by the Glass Gardens sometimes, along with the moles that dug themselves up, making Mathylda mad with their little burrowing piles of dirt, and then the worms and butterflies and snails in the glass gardens, though Mathylda seemed to want to get rid of them too because they ate all the kale and the gourds, and then there were the butterflies in the garden, and the butterflies in the godswood as well, and the frogs and salamanders in the godswood pool, and the shiny black thorny beetles, and the ants, which he liked, and the mosquitoes, which he did not like, and the spiders with the long legs that he saw in the henhouse from time to time... He did not particularly like those either, he supposed. They scared him. One such was climbing up behind Ardon's back at the wall of the henhouse just now.
"Watch out, a spider!" Tommen cried out. Ardon moved away, confused but grateful. He did not seem as scared of the spider, though.
"This is a locker spider. A father long legs", he said. "I once had one in my hair when I woke up. I screamed as loud as a giant, but then Mother took it away from me and whisked it off."
Tommen was terrified of the thought of ever having a locker spider in his hair. They both had long hair, but Ardon's was even longer, hanging in fine strands down towards his neck. He would not like for any of them to have to see an icky locker spider climbing up their long hair with its long, spindly legs. Hodor seemed to agree with the sentiment.
"Hodor, hodor!" he exclaimed, shuddering with his large shoulders and arms. He was standing behind Tommen as usual, before he was to go on his horse. Tommen liked riding, but he would often postpone the ride to go around and see the rest of the yard for as long as he could first. Things inside the castle were better seen on the ground than from horseback. Those outside were the opposite way around, he found. There the roads were long, regardless of whether one was going up high to the Wolfswood or taking the Kingsroad down towards Torrhen's Square, as his father had done several times.
Suddenly they heard someone approaching. Big, loud, heavy steps of chainmail and boots. It was the Hound, come to take Tommen to his Father as usual. The Hound was great and tall, almost as tall as Hodor, but much more fierce and angry, though he could be kind as well, at times. He seemed kind now and today, Tommen thought.
"Lord Tommen, are you finished?" he asked in his usual, brusquely rough voice.
Tommen looked up and nodded.
"Best we be on our way. Your Father and the King are already begun saddling their horses."
And with that, he picked him up just like a sack of hay and put him squealing with joy on top of his tall shoulders, almost touching the ceiling, to Tommen's great glee. Aye, today was a good day for the Hound, thought Tommen. Good, sweet little Gullan, he thought, good Hodor, and good Hound.
His Father, Lord Benjen Stark, and his uncle, the King, Eddard Stark, first of his name, both stood by their horses indeed, saddled and ready almost, along with all the others. His Mother stood ready to wave him goodbye. She kissed him warmly, first on the forehead, then on the mouth, then on each of his two pink reddish cheeks.
"You are already growing red, sweetling. Don't let your Father take you away for too long. There are dangers in the woods.", Mother said.
"Yes, Mother". Tommen nodded dutifully, as she waved all of them goodbye. She stood wrapped in her large grey woolen pelts and furs, with Septa Arbane and Maester Luwen by her side.
Then they were off. His Father lead the way, faster on a horse than most anyone Tommen had seen, though the King was a close second, and Harwin came third, though he soon began riding before them to scout ahead, the hooves of his horse clappering in a wild gallop along the pathway.
Willam and Jon were riding before him, as usual when they were out, and the Hound next to him, looking over him.
"What are we going to do in the Wolfswood?" asked Tommen. "Mother says it's dangerous there."
"We are going to hunt for whatever game Lord Benjen and the King can find", the Hound said.
"Will there be deer?" Tommen asked.
"Maybe so", the Hound replied. "Lots of deer in the Wolfswood. Lots of other game too."
"I like deer", Tommen said, angling his face forward towards the grey of the road.
Tommen heard Willam and Jon talking excitedly in front of him. They were both very glad to be able to join their Father and the King on the hunt. The Wolfswood by itself was an adventure, and this, riding with their uncle the King, was one of the best outrides of their lives. They could barely stop talking all the way there.
"Do you reckon we will catch ourselves a good nice stag?" Willam asked, putting his horse into a faster trot. "I would need one to put up on the walls in my bedchamber. It's empty enough for it."
"Aye, or something better. Boar perhaps", Jon said, following after with a tug of his reins.
"A stag is better", Willam said. "I would like something with horns to put up on the walls."
"What about the tusks?" Jon suggested. "A boar is a great and proper prize as well."
"As long as I don't have to look at it in the face for too long", Willam said. "They're ugly beasts. Monsters, more like."
"I never knew that the heir of Winterfell would be so scared of a little pig", Jon teased.
"You would be scared too, if you ever saw a proper boar. They're not any common pig, I can tell you. They're not worth the hastle of it. They're too dangerous, and not promising enough in a trophy."
"I'd be more scared of a large pair of antlers coming towards me than some angry pig", Jon insisted.
"Boars are man-eaters. It would have you on your back and trailing out your innards in a heartbeat."
"Not if my spear can help it."
"And what if it can't?" Willam insisted, stubborn to win the conversation. "What then, Snow, ey?"
"Then you'll have to find someone else to go and cry to when you dream nightmares of monster pigs in the night", Jon sniggered.
Willam tried punching him for that, but Jon steered his horse away, laughing.
After a little more than half an hour's riding, they reached the edge of the Wolfswood. The pine trees and granes were beginning to rise and welcomed them into its great green expanse.
"Harwin and Macks will ride out", Lord Benjen said to the King. "They are our best riders and scouts. Or would you like us to join them?"
"No, I trust them to be faster than me, at least", the King laughed. "And a whole litter younger, at that."
His Father nodded, as Harwin and Macks rode ahead, bringing Farlen's dogs with them as well for good measure. The dogs set off in a loud rough howling flock, as Harwin took a right and Macks a left, bounding into the thicket of the bushes and off.
"Why did they go without us?" Tommen asked.
"To try and find something before it finds us", the Hound said. "Better a small group of one or two men, and some proper hounds to look, than a whole entourage of men. Deer have good hearing, and an even better sense of smell."
Tommen nodded slowly, and looked down on his feet. He had hated having to put on his thick riding socks, as they chafed all around his ankles, but now he was glad for it. It was already becoming somewhat cold as they stood still, waiting, and the mosquitoes began to flock about.
"There are mosquitoes here", Tommen said.
"I can't do anything about the mosquitoes, little lord", the Hound said. "Best just ignore them."
"These are smaller ones. They are small and round. Like tiny small pebbles. Not like the others."
"Aye", the Hound agreed. "Gnats."
"Gnats..." Tommen echoed, staring at them in fascination. "I'd like to have one."
"What, as a pet you mean?" the Hound asked.
"Yes.", Tommen replied.
The Hound put his large, shaggy-headed neck back and roaringly laughed, scoffing at the idea.
"Aye, that'd be a pretty little pet, wouldn't it...? Though I've heard Lord Bolton keeps leeches for himself. Anything to suck the warm blood out of you up here, it seems..."
"I don't need a lot of blood", Tommen said. "They can have some if they want it."
The Hound laughed again at that, shaking his massive head slowly from one side to the next.
"And I always thought that your father was the toughest out of you lot... Seems I was wrong."
"Have you gotten any bites?"
"Not as of yet. They dare not pierce my hide", the Hound said proudly, a wry smile on his face, extending only almost to the burned side of his face. "The hide of an old hound is thick and hairy, you know. All too much for a small gnat to want to go through."
"But you are not a true hound. You're a man. You only have a hound's helm.", Tommen argued.
"Perhaps it scares them off, then", the Hound shrugged his great armour-clad shoulders. "I do not feel anything."
"Not anything at all?" Tommen insisted.
The Hound put silent at last at that, tired with answering the questions of a small child, and peered into the forest instead, a sceptical look on his face. They were quiet for a while.
"The wind is blowing up north. Not a good sign. The deer will catch our wind soon enough. And that of the horses."
"I thought the deer and the horses were friends. They both eat plants."
"There are no such things as friends in beasts", the Hound said. "Everything is trying its best to rip its neighbour into pieces, or starve it to death, as long as it's smaller or weaker than itself. Each one to himself, and his only. Remember that, little lord, and you will have an easier time of it. The deer see the horses as traitors, you see, for the horses are allied with men, and go against ther wild brethren. And they eat the deer's food, as well as getting it from us. 'Can't be too happy about that, can they? … No. That is the way of it, little lord. The way of the woods. Best your remember that."
Tommen became sad. The Hound always said such troubling things, and never seeming to think it a great deal. One time he had told him that a man only loves a woman as it is the curse of the gods, and a woman only loves a man for that she needs his seed to make another little woman out of her, and if she has sons they will fight themselves to the death over their curse and the victor will start it all over again. Tommen did not like to think about such things. The King and his Father had not killed eachother. But his Father had said that they had an older brother before, Lord Brandon, whom Prince Bran was named after... Tommen still did not fully understand how he had died, only that he was gone and buried in the crypts. He had seen his statue once. It was a fierce and sturdy one, made of hard grey stone. Tommen felt cold when thinking about the crypts. He shivered beneath his furs.
"How long will we stay here?"
"'Til the nightfall", the Hound said. "If we do not find anything before that."
"Are you tired already?" Jon asked, angling back from his horse a couple of feet in front next to Willam and Theon, still a little further ahead to the left.
"A little", Tommen admitted, taking his reins up as his horse trotted forward at a slow pace.
"Don't worry. I'm sure it will become more exciting soon. The Wolfswood is not exactly a place for sleeping." Jon smiled.
Tommen tried his best at smiling back, though he was already feeling his legs going numb from the long and far way they had already ridden.
...
Suddenly they heard a horn coming from further on within the woods, and the hounds began barking as well from somewhere far off into the thick dark green of the woods.
"They've found something!" Father shouted out, lifting his spear into the air. "You first?" He asked.
"Together", the King said, nodding to Father. Lord Stark nodded back.
And then they were off, the King galloping fast as he could, trying to keep up the pace with Father, who rode swiftly and hard almost every other day. It paid off now, Tommen could see.
Tommen kicked his own horse to gallop, or tried his best to do so, as Willam and Jon had already set off before him, the Hound staying by his side for a few more moments.
"Come on", he said impatiently. "We don't want to get left behind."
Tommen kicked again, and the horse started a gallop. He almost thought he was going to fall off at first, but then he got a hold of it, and the Hound showed him how to do it from afar, angling his eyes down towards his own reins and the proper grip of it.
He was far taller, at least three times as tall, or so he thought, but Tommen managed somehow to get it working from watching him and how he did it.
And then they rode. They rode and rode. Over stumps and thorny bushes, over small streams and fallen trees with green moss on them, between pines and granes and dark green fir trees, sentinels and soldier pines, elms, aspens, birches and cedars... The snows had fallen earlier during the night and morning, and white snow still covered the ground in places here and there, most everywhere, though it was only a couple inches thick. Typical summer snows, here in the day's morning, gone by the next day's nightfall, as his Father would often say. The hounds were baying and barking from afar, signalling that they were on the heels of the animal, whatever it was.
When they neared the main part of the host, and Tommen saw Jekken and Varly and the rest, and then Jon and Willam and Theon, and then finally Father and the King, the Hound signalled for Tommen to slow down his horse. They ground to a slower pace, merely keeping up enough to watch as the King and Father set off after the animal. Harwin and Macks were further away, at least another hundred feet or more, shouting from where they stood, their horses restlessly tromping back and forth at the ground as Harwin tried steadying himself and hindering his horse from rearing up. Tommen spied to see what it was that they had found. The hounds bayed and barked, hopping around and snapping at something, but the trees and most of all the thick bushes were all in the way. Granes and bushes with red berries and dark green sticky pine needle bushes blocked his view... But then he finally saw that it was indeed a deer they had found, though a hind apparently, a female.
Father did not seem to mind, however, even if it had been a stag they had hoped for; Tommen knew that much at least. Willam would have to take his antler trophy some other day.
The King rode up, rushing closer towards the deer, mounted on his great destrier horse, holding the reins with his left hand and holding his spear in his right hand. Father came beside him, a small ways after, armed with his spear in his left hand.
"Go on! Take it!" Father shouted at the King, and King Eddard roused himself and threw. The spear hit its mark, but only slightly, getting stuck in the left side of the deer.
"Another one! Quick!" the King yelled, and Father came up with his own spear, trying his best to angle it. He had better control over his horse than the King, and the horse was also faster, not his usual great brown horse Augey but his slender black hunting horse, [Sprinter/Slicker/Slipper?] and so he nearly rode akapp with the deer before launching his own spear, hitting the deer right in the heart. Tommen almost thought that he could feel the pain of the deer as the shot went into it.
The deer only ran further for a couple more feet, and then collapsed onto its side, laying down on the soft green moss of the forest floor. Tommen felt sad for the deer, seeing its terrified black doe eyes as it sank down towards the ground, feeling how it was nearing its end, but the King and Lord Benjen seemed glad for the hunting victory, smiling and raising their gloved fists into the air as everyone else cheered and applauded, Jekken, Willam and Theon most of all.
The King then walked up to the deer, taking out his dagger from the hilt at his side and slicing across its neck to kill it properly. Tommen could not look. He simply had to look away. The deer struggled before the King, struggling and kicking its long slender legs and feet out towards its sides as Tommen raised his gloves and mittens across his eyes, closing his eyes and covering them too... And then it was done. The deer was killed. The King was silent now, and Father too, but some of the men still cheered, congratulating them on their fortune. The Hound stood next by Tommen on his horse, saying nothing as Tommen slowly dared to open his eyes again and saw the dead deer.
They picked up the deer and hung it over the back of one of the extra horses they had brought, binding it so that it would not fall off. The deer was truly beautiful, even now in death, Tommen saw it to be. It was a beautiful beige brown female deer, yes, a hind, and it had a long slender neck, even though it was now trickling with red blood in its otherwise white neck fur.
"A good catch", Father said, nodding with a smile, "though one hind does not make a hunt for so many. Let's continue on."
They continued further on, as Harwin and Macks went out again, hoping for something better, a stag perhaps, or perhaps something smaller but exciting, a fox or a badger if nothing better came. The Wolfswood was huge, and sprawling with game almost everywhere. Father seemed certain that they would be able to find many prey, so long as they managed to do their best in holding silent and looking in the right places, he said. The King seemed to agree, having hunted here for some years in his youth as well, at least for some time, when he had been here and not been in the Vale.
Harwin and Macks did not find much after that, however, as they rode northwest, and so they all decided to split up, with Harwin and Macks continuing west and Jekken, Berrol and Mankan riding northeast. The King and Father, and most others continued on with them, though Willam and Theon went after Harwin and Macks, preferring their chances with the smaller and more skilled party.
They went trotting along, slowly now on their way towards the next good prey site of the vast wood, the Hound suddenly whistling on some strange tune that Tommen did not recognize, though it sounded glad.
"What song is that?" he asked as they rode.
"I don't think it has a name", the Hound said. "It's just something that my Father and the merchants and farmers all around my home keep used to whistle on from time to time in my youth."
"I think it sounds like a bird somewhat", Tommen said.
"Could be", the Hound said. "Though we did not have many small birds out there on the field. We did not live in a forest, like here. Mostly just storks and wrauks... Not that many trees there but... Well... Some small things flying by perhaps."
Tommen tried his best at imitating the melody. Laa-di-di-da-di-di-daa-di-di-daaa...
"We're riding, we're riding, we're riding, we ride..." He started singing. The Hound began laughing.
"Aye, you could do that to it, I suppose..." He said, shaking his head as they went. "Though I would say it was more about rolling some cart forward. The first man who whistled it, as far as I recall, was a man, well, just a regular old farmer, though he wore a red vest, that he had bought for all his best coppers and silver on account of his pride for working for my father and grandfather,... well, a man at any rate, who used to always come to our keep with the carts of flour and wheat and what not... Some apples I believe he would bring too. And carrots. Many things he had."
"And he whistled just like that?" Tommen said.
"Aye, that he did", the Hound said. "Whistled all the way from his own little cottage and all across the yellow fields to our keep and there and back again, I could imagine. Though I did not ever learn where he lived until I became the lord of the keep myself. And by then he had apparently stopped coming there, perhaps he was dead, I never asked, but his son had taken up to going instead. But he did not wear the same red vest as his father... Perhaps he still had it. I could not say. Didn't ask."
"Were you made the lord when your father died?" Tommen asked.
"No. When my brother died."
The memory seemed to suddenly darken his mind, but at the same time there was some strange sense of a smile brewing deep inside of Sandor Clegane, as Tommen knew his real name was, though he seldom used it himself.
"What did your brother die of?" Tommen asked. "Was he old or something? Did he die in a war?"
"Aye, I suppose you could say that he died in the war. He died from a trial just after the war. And the King himself took his head with his greatsword, though they say four men had to hold him down so he would be still, even though he was chained and truck to the ground. That was the day, wasn't it...?" He began mumbling to himself, "aye, that was the great day to be in the capital... Hm..."
"Did you see it?" Tommen sounded incredulous.
"No, unfortunately I missed it. I was already back at Casterly Rock by then, but I heard of it by raven. I sure as the Seven took a skin of wine on that particular night to celebrate."
"Is he the brother who was the bad knight? The Mountain knight?"
"Aye, that was him, all right."
Tommen held quiet at that. He could tell that the Hound was still mad at his brother for being a bad knight to the people. His brother, the Mountain knight, had killed innocent people, and broken against his vows. That was why the Hound did not want to become a knight, though Ser Rodrik had extended the offer to him several times.
They continue on, riding in silence, for another mile, and then another again, watching and listening for prey while going northeast all the way until they were almost beginning to be on their way out of the woods again, having cleared most of what was nearest. A couple of tjader grouse were leking close to their path, though Father did not wish to shoot them. He would not waste his arrows on them if he could help it. Besides, he would much rather have a wrestle with one of them. The King smiled lightly at the notion, and Father smiled much more, as they first considered going out themselves, but at the pleas from the men to make it a more interesting one, they sent up one of the braver young boys to have at it.
"Better that something should happen when there are no other prey about", the King said, smiling somewhat. "A good old proper tjader fight is better than nothing, I suppose, if all of the beasts are indeed hiding when I come here."
"Aye, this will be a good one", Father laughed, his eyes intense with childish excitement. Willam, Jon, Robb and Theon all echoed the older men's sentiment, riling up eachother and staring at the furiously fighting rival birds in anticipation.
They all readied themselves to watch, some or most stepping down from their horses, including Father and the King, and some of the men began placing their bets on the outcome. The boy, Jekken's son Ergon of thirteen years, took a hard grip around his gloves, straightened his helmet and pulled up the coif to cover his mouth and face as best he could. Then he dropped his spear and shield and went up towards the two large birds.
"Are you taking the one or the both of them?" His father, Jekken, asked after him.
"I reckon I'll take the wildest one!" Ergon shot back. "Elsewise it's not a true challenge!"
He neared the tjader with his gloved fists raised, and his face covered, as all the rest, some good twenty-five or thirty men, stood watching him, as he went forwards towards the two green birds, who were still fighting eachother wildly, their strong wings flacking about and their sharp beaks pecking at eachother the first chance they got.
"Go on boy, you can do it!" Jekken shouted, encouraging his son.
"Just two punches! Take it into a nice grouse pudding!" someone shouted. Dacks, he thought it was.
Ergon closed in on the two birds. Beating up one tjader grouse was said to be hard enough, for even though it was only a bird, it was a bloody big and angry bird, with a sharp beak, great hacking wings made for hacking and flacking, a sharp nose made for pecking eyes out, and two great, thick, gnarly grey feet with claws made for ripping through flesh. Tommen knew that, though he thought that Ergon could take him. He was a strong boy, almost a man grown, and his Father's son.
"All right!" Ergon shouted back at them. "I'll take the right one!"
And he neared the bird... Tommen watched in fascination. Normally he might be routing for the bird, for he liked to root for animals in similar fights, but it was such an angry and terrifying one, almost more a monster than bird, that he wanted Ergon to punch it down easy as anything.
"Go Ergon!" He shouted as loud as he could, his voice straining, as he had heard the other men doing. "Take it down for Winterfell!"
Ergon bent down slightly, honing his gaze and aiming in on the right of the two grouses, as they got a sight of him finally, when he was not more than perhaps six or seven feet away, and then he took one step, two steps, three steps and then was there, waiting for the bird to make the first move.
The tjader fore towards him immediately at first sight, fracking and flacking with is powerful wings like some terrifying, feathery monster, its red sleur and eyecrest as maddening red as blood, as it punched Ergon's leg and fluttered to hop up on his lap to peck at him. Ergon kicked the stupid bird, however, kicking it right into its breast with his hard leather boot. Then another kick, and then another one, as now the left tjader was becoming mad as well.
The second bird hopped up on his back, flattering about against the air to try and keep itself there and tear at his back, and then he started to panic, but then one of the archers shot an arrow at its back, trying to save Ergon from the second bird. The bird barely seemed to notice, however, and it was only by its own gradual gliding around in the air that it got around to Ergon's front side a few moments later, circling and then striking down on the first bird, striking at its feathery rival and completely forgetting about the human again.
Ergon kept kicking at the first bird, as it attacked him again and again, and then started boxing at it, jabbig at it as it flattered right at his face and pecked at his eyes and face.
"Close your eyes, boy! Close 'em!" Jekken screamed, as all the men were cheering him on. Ergon did as told, and continued hitting back at the bird. Someone shot a second arrow at the left bird, meanwhile it was still fluttering and pecking furiously at the back of its first feathery rival, but after a while it finally seemed to get a third arrow caught in its breast and then fluttered up into the air in a panicked burst, then down towards the ground, and lay down fluttering for some moments before finally succumbing to death, bleading profusely on the green of the moss below it on the ground like a miniature fountain all the while.
Ergon punched at the remaining bird, for a true cocky capercailie it was, no doubt, keeping up its strength still, and then he tried getting a grip around its neck to strangle it, but then it got insanely fast, pecked right through his leather gloves, Tommen could tell, as the boy Ergon screamed.
"AAAAAAAHH! You bloody fucking fowel cunt!" Ergon shouted as a madman, turning away immediately, hurrying up to stand tall on his two legs again and beginning to run back towards the others, all the while half-heartedly kicking behind him in the empty air as he went. Now was the time to panic. The bird followed after, however, flocking up onto his back and driving its sharp claws into him. Right into his back, it went, Tommen could see in sudden fascinated horror at the sight.
"AAAAYYY!" He screamed in pain.
"Shoot the fucker!" Jekken screamed towards the archers standing closest to him.
"Is it a fair fight or no?!" One of them screamed back, all red and sweaty in his face. "Else the bets are off!"
Some looked to the King, who held his hand steady in the air, signalling for calm and to see some more of how it all went. Jekken had boiled leather, and so the bird should not be able to pierce through his armor with its claws, but from his reaction it seemed like it nonetheless had done so, or did.
Ergon screamed like a madman, running as fast as he could back towards the entire hunting group in panic, but then turned when he realized that the bird would not stop its peacking if he didn't make it stop himself.
He put his right hand desperately up to cover his face, tried reaching for the bird's wing, which failed miserably as it was too fast, only snapping hard at his wrist to make him scream out again, but then he somehow seemed to get a reflexive spontaneous grip onto one of its legs, and then he fast pulled it right down to lay underneath him on the ground, instantly dropping down to the ground above it and smothering it with his entire bare weight, all the while as the bird flapped furiously with its wings from under him, trying to smacker him from below, and it seemed to be somehow madly working, even though the boy of thirteen was pushing the bird down with all his weight. He was not broad enough to cover the bird's entire breadth of wings, and Ergon seemed almost to be lifted up from the ground, hovering from the impossible strenght of the bird, and then finally someone shouted out to him:
"Can you finish it or no!?"
"I don't think so! I can't get a grip!" Ergon screamed, and Tommen saw that his coif had gone down from his face, exposing a sore of blood on his cheek and a flustered face dripping with sweat of fear already.
"Take the knife!" Jekken screamed. "He's got claws, so do you, boy!"
"That's not a fair fight!" Someone objected.
"Knife!" Father decreed, holding his hand up in the air with a stern face.
Ergon heard the words from Lord Benjen, and pulled out his knife from his hilt and stabbed wildly at the bird, once, twice, thrice, fourwise, fivewise, sixwise, sevenwise, eightwise... The bird fluttered wildly for only a couply of brief moments more, before splurting red blood right up at him from its thunderously smattering wings and chest, its heart going into overdrive before finally giving it up and dying onto itself.
Ergon sank down on his small legs, sitting back and looking at the dead bird in front of him, with his face full of blood and feathers all around, as he finally grabbed the bird around its neck now and hoisted it up into the air.
"Death for you, you fowel!" He screamed. The men all roared in victorious red screams and laughter, running up to him and casting their coins and drink at him. The King and Father both seemed relieved, and somewhat frightened and chased up at that, as Father laughed, sniggering forward towards the victor and patting him hard on the back.
"Well done, Ergen! Better a bloody cock fight I never saw in my life, I dare say!"
The King nodded, sweating from his brow and wiping it off with his glove, saying "And to the victor goes the bettings! Bring it forth!"
And all the men who had not yet come forward came also with their coins, some with mutterings, but most with merry congratulations, as Jekken strung up the fowel from the ground, holding it up proudly for all to see, and then hung it next to Ergon on his chest as a necklace. Ergon smiled, relieved, but also looked pained in the face.
"Are you all right, boy?" Jekken said, suddenly with a hint of worry.
"It got into my bloody face", Ergon complained. "The feathery bastard..."
"It's all right. I've got ye'.", Jekken said, taking his son under his arms and the dead bird in his other hand, hanging it over Ergon's horse and dabbing at his son's face profusely with a white cloth of strongwine.
"I've never ever been prouder of you, son. Tonight you can take anything out of the pantry you like. Tomorrow as well, if you like. Meats, wine, the cloves... All of it."
Ergon said nothing, as his father cleaned his wounds, and some others went on patting him slightly on the back. Tommen and the Hound stood watching. The Hound had not said a word throughout the entire ordeal, but now he spoke silently, making his words to Tommen, almost speaking in his ear for only him to hear.
"Well, now your Father has decided that we are to have grouse pudding to dinner, it seems. And it only cost some thirty coppers for it to be done. But no arrows were wasted at least, unless we're counting those three..."
Tommen laughed somewhat, though in truth he was too terrified to do so. If Mother ever hears of this, she will be frightened as never before, he realized.
"Should I not tell Mother about this?" he asked the Hound, who was sworn to her and Father both. He would surely know what was the right thing to do.
The Hound seemed to consider it for a while, and then answered, "No. Women don't need to know of this type of thing. It makes their blood run faster, but not for an hour, like with men, but for an entire moon if you're not careful. Best not to say anything. Or else say that it was the King who fought it. Not Ergon. Not the boy, if you want to calm her."
Tommen nodded. Father and the King came up to them then, Father laying his hand round Tommen's back, asking if he was all right.
"It was quite the fight, ey, Tommen?"
"Yes", Tommen agreed silently. "I thought he was going to be killed by the tjader. For... His armour was not strong enough. On his back. The claws of it..."
"Aye, but they have long claws, to be sure", Father said. "I shall give Ergon a thicker shirt and armour as thanks. And I shall most definitely give him a place in my consideration for next captain of the gate. If any wildlings should were to come over with such fury as that tjader, we are in good hands." He nodded, and looked over to the boy, as if to cement his words.
Then they walked up to their horses again, Father and the King both, as the group started preparing to make the final ride towards the southeast, clearing off the final part of forest before the sun began lowering on the sky.
The spirits were in a good mood at first, but when they all saw how badly Ergon had damaged his eye, and that he held silent for the remainder of the journey, the men around fell more silent as well. The dead tjader grouse hung still on the back of his horse, where his father had strung it, as he trotted along, diligently, head turned down, with one hand over his bandage over his eye and cheek. Tommen supposed that he would have to go Maester Luwen the first thing he did when they all got back to the castle.
"Most like one or two hours left before it starts getting dark. I don't reckon the woods have much more game for us today", the Hound said after they turned by a great waterfall as high as two men, traversing it on a long narrow line under the stream of water with their horses. The logs surrounding it were damp with moss, snow, water and mushrooms peeking out of the snow drifts, growing and dripping cold ice water from the wetness of it all. Their horses walked slowly, slowly, gingerly braving each cobble-like stone and stretch of wet brown mud, grey slush and white snow so as not to slide.
"Is this the White knife?" Tommen said. The Hound laughed at that.
"No, it's just a small stream, though the waterfall would have you believe elsewise. The White Knife is far east, east of the Kingsroad even. You will not see it before we are out of the woods again, if even then."
Tommen nodded, looking down on the bushes and thick dense fir trees and sentinels as the ground became dry again.
They rode, and rode, and rode... The way home was long, but Father and the King went deliberately, slowly, seeming sure of where to go, and so Tommen trusted them with that they would be getting home again before sundown. Another mile, and then they were almost out of the woods again, when the outriders once again heralded a find. The final game of the day, Tommen hoped, as he felt his legs going numb again, his socks once again chafing against his legs, everything hurting and sore. They continued on towards the sound of the scouts.
...
The hart lay with its tongue out and flat towards the ground, its massive beige brown body riddled with maggots already, crawling through its felt, though it seemed to not have died more than a couple of hours ago. It was a male, a stag, with enormous antlers, although one of them had been half broken off, Tommen could see.
The King and then Father both hopped off their horses, taking a few measured steps towards it. Noone said anything, as Tommen and the rest stayed put on their saddles. After a little while, Prince Robb, Willam and Theon all hopped down, though, to take a closer look, and at that, Jon too grew similarly dark in his visage, leaving Tommen's side and approaching slowly along the others towards the great felled deer. So there was the stag, Tommen thought. Already dead it was.
They were all silent, far more silent now that the day was beginning to an end and they had found the king of the forest lying so still and dead. It seemed... not natural somehow, as the Hound whispered to Tommen. They gradually approached, the King and Father first, and the others coming soon behind with hushed movements.
...
"What could it have been?" Theon said. "A mountain lion?"
"There are no mountain lions in these woods", Father said, a contemplative look on his face suddenly visible.
"No", the King agreed. His face was somber.
"Shadowcat?"
The King looked slowly towards the trees with a silent gaze of consideration. Father shook his head silently towards Theon. A shadowcat would surely have clawed and ripped at the beast more, and also not left its prey to rot, Tommen thought. And the stag was missing half an antler...
A while away they found the answer. A great shaggy grey beast lay dead on the ground, its sharp fangs and great snout and head terrifying to look at, its eyes still wide open, but it was most surely dead, with thick trails of blood curdled around its head and neck.
"It's a monster", said Theon. "A bloody monster it is."
"It's a direwolf", Father said, staring in disbelief.
The King and Father walked slowly towards it, and the King knelt before it.
"So it is. … 'Tough old beast."
"There are no direwolves south of the Wall", Willam said. "Not for a hundred years."
They all stood awatching the impossible before them, the statement tossed out against the cold air of the impossibility laying before them. And yet there it was. A direwolf, Tommen thought. Though it looked even more terrifying than on any sigil he had seen, and twice the size he had thought it to be, surely, if not even more. But the stag had apparently taken it down nonetheless. It had managed to do so, even though it was a prey and the direwolf was a predator, though a stag was surely strong enough to do it, apparently... Tommen thought. Noone said anything. It lay dead in the snow and dirt of the ground, completely still, a massive husky grey shape the size of a small horse. The king only stared at the giant dead wolf, his gaze frozen in [non-understanding].
"There are no direwolves south of the Wall", Willam said again, not understanding how such a thing could be. Had it gone down through the Gorge? Tommen thought. But that was a steep ravine... How was such a thing possible? Was there a tiny strip of land by Eastwatch it had passed through?
Jon flinched, hearing something in the bushes a while away. He walked towards the green of the shrubbery, slowly, carefully, as the King and Father looked on, and then he bent down, pulling out a small furry thing, though large enough still to cover his whole forearm by.
"Now there are five."
It was true, Tommen saw suddenly. Five small direwolf pups mewled and whined, crawling around on the ground close by their Mother or Father, for whether the wolf was a male or female he did not yet know.
"What are we going to do?" Jon said.
"What do you mean do?" Willam asked.
"Well... They won't survive long without their Mother at any rate", Father said, clearly knowing what Jon meant.
Theon nodded, taking up his sword and one of the pups.
"Right. Give it here", Theon said.
"No!" Bran screamed in terror.
"Keep your blade down!" Prince Robb shouted before he had a chance to stab the poor wolf pup.
Theon waned somewhat, taking down his blade somewhat, though he looked at the Prince in annoyance.
"What do you say, Ned?" Father asked. "Should we leave them here?"
"...They won't fend for themselves much...", the King considered.
"No, you can't hurt them!" Prince Bran said, and Tommen readily agreed, both boys pleading to their fathers to spare the pups.
"Just let them be!" Bran said.
"They'll be dead soon enough anyway", the King said. "They are from north of the Wall. I don't know how they got so far down south, but... This is no place for them to be."
"We could take care of them", Bran said.
"And how would you do that? They need milk, and their mother is gone.", Father said.
"Ser Rodrik's red bitch has just whelped", Willam said. "It's a small litter this time. Perhaps she could give milk to them."
"It's not as simple as that, Willam. It's a dog and a wolf. She would not stand by having them. They are ferocious beasts, even when little, and especially if they are allowed to grow up."
"A direwolf is certainly no easy pet to raise", the King agreed, with melancholy in his voice, turning away into the distance to try and bury his thoughts at the thing.
"Your Grace...!" Jon said, suddenly.
Theon turned to look at him, clearly about to question why he interrupted the king or Lord Benjen.
"If I may, Your Grace..." Jon said, looking up towards the King. The king considered for a while, then consented.
"Go on, Jon. Speak."
"Your Grace", Jon said, "there are five pups. One for each of your children. The North has sent you these as a sign of blessing towards your reign and House. … You were meant to have them."
The King stood silent, and seemed to consider the possibility. He did not have long to think on it, however, before Prince Bran ran up to Jon and the pups, hopping up desperately to get a look at one of them. "Father, can I have it? Please Father! Please!" Bran said, pleading up towards the King with an anxious look. Tommen looked to his own Father with much the same sentiment.
The King sighed, deeply, long and hard, looking back at something invisible he seemed to have far behind him for guidance. Finally, however, he looked down at Bran, with a cold, hard face.
"I will not have any direwolves terrorising the Red Keep. Nor will I force any of the servants or the people to risk their lives and limb for it. We are no Targaryens, and there will certainly be no wolfpit in the capital. …"
He was silent for a while, as everyone waited for his next words. He sighed. … And then it came.
"You will feed them yourselves. You will train them yourselves. And if they die… you will bury them yourselves."
"Thankyou, Father! Oh, thankyou, thankyou!" Bran shouted in utter relief and joy, hugging his pup warmly.
Bran and Tommen both were as glad as they could be, as Jon put one of the pups into Robb's awaiting arms, and Willam and Robb both took one more each, handed over one to Ser Rodrik, and Willam gave the one from Theon's threatening arms to Tommen to hold and watch over instead.
"Right then. Best we be on our way back. That's enough excitement for one hunt, even for me", Father said, trying his best to laugh off the stress of the situation, as Theon and Willam sat up on their horses, each now with one wolf pup in their arms, and Theon's blade safely tucked away at last into the stillness of his hilt.
"Aye", the King agreed, but said nothing more as he began saddling up for the ride back.
There was a gnying sound in the bushes just as they made to turn around and leave, however. Something still made a sound. Jon looked down into the bushes again, close to an old gnarled root of the tree beside, as a small white wolf pup with red eyes came out, nuzzling against his boots with a worried look. It was the sweetest thing Tommen had ever seen, though Jon seemed only perplexed and in deep thought as he regarded the pup, taking it up in his hand, its shining white fur against the black leather of his gloves.
The King looked at Jon.
"Well then… It would seem that one is yours, Jon."
Jon spied a glance from the King, and bowed down as if accepting the judgment, or offer, whichever one might call it. Tommen was mighty jealous at not getting a wolf pup himself, when all of the King's children would have so, and they did not even live here, but at least Jon would have one. He felt sad but tried consoling himself with the thought. He would try and play with the white pup as much as he could.
"The albino", Theon said, laughing. "That one will die even sooner than the others."
Jon gave him a look of icy death back.
Theon laughed even harder at that, though not loud enough to give offence to the King. They all feared him, and respected him, Tommen knew, and rightly so. He was almost half a head taller than Father, he was sure, and looked bigger and broader somehow, and with the [bronze and iron?] crown with the nine swords on his head, framing his head of long dark brown hair beginning to grey somewhat, he looked just as one of the Kings of Winter from Old Nan's stories, Tommen thought.
"Right then. As I just said... Best we be on our way…" said the King, and Father echoed his sentiment.
"Aye. Back to Winterfell, lads. Keep ahold of those pups so they don't frighten the horses. "
Robb, Theon, Bran and Jon all carried one wolf each, Jon now having his own white one, as he gave the first grey one to Ser Rodrik, but Tommen saw that Prince Robb had taken two in his arms. The fifth one of the grey pups, the runt of the litter, Father then handed to the Hound, who reluctantly took it into his arms while trying to steer his horse at the same time. He frowned slightly, looking down at the pup, but then Tommen leaned forward as best he could and he gave him a chance to pet it.
"Its fur is so soft!" Tommen said, squealing in delight. "Don't you feel it?"
"I've still got my gloves on", the Hound said, his voice raspy and dry as usual.
"It's the softest thing I ever felt!" Tommen insisted. "Feel it!"
The Hound made a face, but then took off one of the gloves, stroking the pup half-heartedly across the back, feeling its fur, and somehow he got a while calmer at the touch.
"It doesn't even move before me", he grumbled. "What type of beast is it that does not move?"
"It likes you!" Tommen said. "I think it's a girl pup", he realized then. "They're calmer than the boys, Maester Luwen says."
The Hound stroked the pup for a little bit more, as they started riding back, the Wolfswood slowly thinning out, mile after mile, in tall pine trees, blueberry shrubs, ferns and bramble bushes all around them.
"Hm. It's not a dog," he said, with a wry smile, "but... I suppose it's the second best thing after that."