Flashman and the Throne of Swords

by Technomad

Chapter 34

Accordingly, a week or so later, a party of us set out to make contact with Robb Stark. Dick Burton led the party, with me (very reluctantly) as second-in-command. We'd also brought Blackadder, in hopes that favourable trade terms with Britain might tempt the Young Wolf.

We had some lower-level embassy flunkies, to do the routine work; embassy responsibilities didn't stop just because we were on our travels. And our good ladies travelled with us, too. I knew Isabel Burton had been along for some of Dick's adventures, but Elspeth's one taste of such things had been in Borneo and Madagascar, when she was kidnapped by that d*ned nigger, Suleiman Usman (1). She'd turned up trumps then, and seeing her since we'd been stuck in this medieval madhouse gave me good hope that she'd do well. I still felt a thrill of pride when I remembered how she'd stood right up to that d*ned tow-headed tyrant, King Joffrey. For protection, we had a detachment of Royal Marines, fully equipped with Snider rifles. We men wereall heeled, of course, and our ladies were also armed, albeit not openly. While we had hopes that this situation could be resolved peaceably, we'd long since learned that Westeros had many surprises.

Since the countryside was still very dangerous to cross (I'd heard tales of a rogue company of "sell-swords" called the Bloody Mummers, and I made up my mind to not go near them at any cost) we went by water. Angus Morrison owned several vessels other than the seagoing Glasgow Lassie, and after a rendezvous at Maidenpool on Westeros' east coast, we transferred to one of his river craft, the newly-built steam sternwheeler William Wallace.

The William Wallace wasn't a patch on the rivergoing palace I'd taken up the Mississippi River in '49 (2), but she was far more comfortable, and a lot safer, than travel by land would have been. Dick and Isabel shared a small stateroom, and Elspeth and I had one to ourselves. We'd brought along some European clothes, but for the voyage, we were in local-style togs. Soup and fish, (3) or the latest Parisian confections, would be out of place. The William Wallace was mainly a working boat, and did not have the facilities of a luxury steamboat plying her trade on the Big Muddy.

For several days, we slowly chugged up the river. Our most recent intelligence said that the Stark forces were at the Riverrun castle, the natal home of Robb Stark's mother, Catelyn Stark (nee Tully). At the thought of facing that d*nable b*tch again, I shuddered, and resolved not to be caught without my barkers and sabre on me. I doubted that b*tch would try anything again, after her humiliation the last time, but Flashy ain't one to take chances he don't have to.

Elspeth was enjoying the trip, which made one of us. I wanted to be back behind safe stone walls at Kings Landing, with Gatling guns close at hand and HMS Penelope just offshore to remind the locals of just whom they were dealing with. She exclaimed over the beauty of the scenery. "Oh, Harry! It's just like the Midlands!" And it was, if the Midlands had been dotted with ruined, burned villages and slighted castles. All too often, the stink of unburied bodies was in the air, and we all put perfumed handkerchiefs over our mouths and noses to try to avoid contagion.

Dick and I, along with Captain Carter and the sergeants who had come along, kept the Marines sharp and alert. Several times, we were fired on from one river bank or t'other. We'd heard that with civil authority all but nonexistent, and the local lords having all they could do to defend themselves, banditry was endemic in much of Westeros, whether in territories claimed by the faction at Kings Landing, the "King in the North," or others.

We dealt very firmly with attempts to attack or pirate us. The William Wallace mounted several small deck guns, and, loaded with small-shot, those did yeoman work convincing would-be robbers to try their luck elsewhere, on less well-armed and well-prepared travellers. A few times, we had to call out the Royal Marines, who knelt behind the gunwales and poured rapid volley fire into boatloads of bandits. More than once, the William Wallace steamed calmly through waters that were pink with blood and dotted with floating corpses and struggling wounded.

Angus Morrison scoffed at the idea of aiding the wounded. "Would they succor us, were things reversed?" he asked, when Isabel Burton begged him to go to their assistance. Remembering how he'd dealt with the Iron Islands pirates who'd thought to take the Glasgow Lassie, I wasn't at all surprised. While he was milder in many ways than most of the local folk, Morrison had survived trading and travelling through Westeros for some time before our advent, and he couldn't have done so had he been any sort of a soft touch. But then, the Morrisons in general are hard men. G*d knows, my late pater-in-law was as tough as could be!

Things went smoothly for a while, but I did not relax my vigilance. I'd had much too much experience in the wild places of our own world, not to mention bl*dy Westeros, to put much faith in things continuing to trip along as we had planned. At night, I slept uneasily, bracing myself for a call to arms, a boiler bursting, or the shudder and shouts that meant that the William Wallace had managed to hole herself on a rock in the river bed. While the William Wallace, to borrow a phrase I heard on the Mississippi, could "run on a heavy dew," steamboats in general had a talent for coming to grief one way or t'other. And we didn't have a pilot aboard that knew every twist and turn of the Red Fork river the way his hand knew his wife's arse. I'd have given a lot to have had someone of the kidney of the river pilots I'd known in America aboard.

For a wonder, nothing too terrible happened, and in a few days we were approaching Riverrun Castle. It was built on an island in the middle of the river and looked to be a formidable problem for any would-be besiegers. Over its tallest tower, a flagpole bore the Tullys' arms (paly wavy gules and azure, overall a trout embowed argent) and the Young Wolf's family arms in the higher place, as befit a royal claimant.

Seeing the Stark arms again reminded me of Sansa Stark, now Sansa Lannister. Our mem-sahibs had quizzed her about her marriage, but she insisted that Tyrion had not claimed his marital rights. "She says that Lord Tywin's no' happy about that," Elspeth had told me, one night in bed. "She also says that Lord Tyrion says that he'll no' do that to her until she tells him that she wants it." Elspeth had sniffled. "For a' he's a dwarf, a bonnier knight I've seldom met!"

That was, to my surprise, a load off my mind. While I had no rational reason to give a fig for Sansa Stark, and some good reasons to think she'd been several kinds of prize fool, I'd come to care about her. Seeing her abused by that royal monster had enraged me, and through Dick Burton's network of informants, I knew more than enough to know that her lot since stupidly betraying her father would have made the Devil in Hell weep for her.

Tying up to the docks on one of the river banks, we got off the boat, and I must admit I was glad of a chance to stretch my legs a little. While river travel's very relaxing, I'm more used to exercise than to be able to feel fully comfortable doing that for very long. At least in this trip, I didn't have a stroppy escaped slave to herd, angry slave-catchers after me, or half the Confederate army looking to use me for target practice!(4)

Word had gone ahead of us, and we were expected. A delegation of Tullys, in armour but not fully arrayed for war, came out to meet us. "Welcome to Riverrun, Ambassador Burton," said the man in the lead. "I am Brynden Tully."

We knew things about this man. He was one of Robb Stark's strongest supporters, and his mother's uncle. He rejoiced in the name of "Blackfish," and one look told me he was what the Yanks I'd met out West called a "killing gentleman." (4) He was looking at us as though we were something he wasn't sure he wanted to buy, but wasn't being openly hostile. Considering that we'd come from Kings Landing, that was about as good as things were going to be. I blessed the Union Jack we were flying. By that time word had apparently gone throughout Westeros that that flag meant very formidable neutrals, and nobody was eager to try conclusions with us.

We were ushered into Riverrun Castle, and the servants gathered around. They were clearly curious to see the exotic British, and I could hear them murmuring comments to each other about our dress and demeanour. We were wearing formal British clothes, and to local people who'd never seen us before, we looked as strange and alien as a procession of Chinese mandarins and their ladies would have done in Britain.

When they formally offered us bread and drink, I relaxed. I knew enough of local customs to know that this meant that we were to be treated as guests, which provided us with a deal of safety. Violating guest-right was one of the worst things anybody could do. Even bandits and outlaws would normally respect guest-right.

After we had partaken, we were shown to rooms. They weren't a patch on our quarters in Kings Landing, but Riverrun was a much smaller castle. While we were escorted through the castle, I was making note of everything I could see, and I knew that Dick Burton and Captain Carter were doing the same. It's a soldier's reflex, don't you know - and while we were hoping to broker a peace, or at least get the fighting to stop, we knew we might yet get drawn into the war. A good idea of the strength and defenses of Riverrun might prove invaluable in the future.

Once we were settled and our traps stored, we were summoned to audience with the Young Wolf. I will admit, I was curious to meet the man. Young though he was, he had won every battle he'd been in since this war had begun, and his men apparently worshipped the water they thought he walked on.

The 'King in the North' awaited us in the Great Hall. He sat in a large chair, clearly meant to resemble a throne, at one end of the hall, with his advisors and allies around him. He was hellish young - had I ever been so young? - but the look in his eye was one I'd seen before many times. He was clearly a veteran, war-wise and confident, and from what I knew of him, he had reasons aplenty to be.

On one side of him lolled the hugest wolf I had ever seen in my life. That wolf was, I swear, nearly as large as a small pony, and looked at us as though it were wondering what British folk tasted like. I shuddered. I knew that Robb Stark was invariably accompanied by his wolf, and that it was a formidable enemy in its own right. On the other side, though - I stiffened, and I could feel Elspeth bridling beside me. I didn't have to look at her to know that her bonny blue eyes were blazing with fury.

Catelyn Stark's eyes had gone wide when she recognised me. She looked at her son, and her son gestured to her. She came forward and swept us a low curtsey. "Please forgive my precipitate behavior on the occasion of our last meeting, Ser Harry," she murmured. "I have been informed that I was very wrong in what I did, and I hope you can forgive me."

At first, I was tempted to tell her to take her apology and go to H*ll, but a look from Dick Burton froze me in my tracks. I knew that if I let my temper spoil this embassage, Dick Burton would roast me alive, and after that, I'd probably be summoned Home in disgrace, to explain my mistake to our sovereign lady.

"I forgive you, Lady Stark," I ground out. Dick Burton gave me a quizzy look, but held his peace. She looked relieved, not having had much experience of how devious Flashy can be. I had said I forgave her. I had said nothing at all about anybody else, and my words did not bind anybody else.

I knew Elspeth was aching to get her fingers around that redheaded b*tch's throat and squeeze till her face turned purple – she was all but trembling with rage at my side, and I put my hand on her arm to remind her to keep calm. For all her pink-and-white prettiness, Elspeth had the heart and soul of a Scotch reiver under her surface of a perfect British lady. And I knew she hated Catelyn Stark as much as I did.

That's not to mention our sovereign lady. The Queen had been furious, I had been informed, about Lady Stark grabbing me at that accursed inn. If Lady Stark had been ill-advised enough to stray into Britain, I wouldn't have been surprised to see her thrown into the Tower of London. I didn't know that the Tower still had prison facilities available, but I'd not have been a bit surprised. And I knew for sure that the Tower still contained a block and axe, last used on the Jacobite lords after the '45. Seeing Catelyn Stark go the route that two queens and a queen-claimant had gone would have settled that score. (5)

Once the apology had been given and accepted, the atmosphere became friendlier. Dick Burton explained why we were there to Robb Stark, who nodded graciously. "Of course, I'll be happy to discuss things with you. I warn you, though, there are some points on which I cannot and will not yield."

And with that, the durbar was over, and we were allowed to mingle with the Tullys and their servants. Elspeth, of course, was the centre of attention, and didn't she know it, the vain little trollop? Not that I could blame them - much - since compared to most of the raddled females present, she was like a ray of sunshine in a dark dungeon. She deftly flirted with the men and chatted up the women, and I watched her work. As long as things didn't go too far (I didn't fancy yet another pair of horns), I was glad to have her on my side. She had a memory for scandal and gossip that would scare anybody, and I knew she was unshakably loyal to the Widow at Windsor. Just like me.

Robb Stark turned out to be a very reasonable sort; I'd much rather we'd backed him rather than that horrid little wretch Joffrey. Or that stiff-necked fool Stannis and his tame witch, d*n her. But orders were orders. It's hell in the diplomatic sometimes.

Young Stark was quite willing to extend protection to British and other foreign merchants operating in territory he controlled. "At least, as far as I'm able," he admitted. "This country's so unsettled, bandits are everywhere. We try to keep them down, but we've only so many soldiers. If we could have peace with Kings Landing, we could put them down in short order. As things stand - " he spread his hands helplessly. "All we can do is the best we can."

"Would you be willing to bend the knee to the King at Kings Landing? If you did that, we could see to it that you were confirmed as Lord of the North, as your father's heir." Burton had to put that idea forward, but from the moment he started speaking, I knew he'd fail. At the mention of bending the knee, Stark's face closed off, and I could suddenly see a real resemblance to his father.

"No. Not ever. Never again. Those scum killed my father and may well have killed my littlest sister. They married my older sister off to that stunted monster Tyrion Lannister to mock us. The North does not need Kings Landing. We got along well before the Targaryens and their accursed dragons forced us to bend the knee to them. Well, the dragons are dead and so are the Targaryens, d*n them!" He struck the table with his fist, startling us. "The North is a kingdom again, and a kingdom it shall remain!"

One look at the men on his side of the table told me that this was non-negotiable. They had disinheriting looks on their faces that would have discouraged Tom Brown. Dick sighed. "Very well. What terms for peace with Kings Landing will you accept?"

Stark leaned forward. "For starters, we want my sisters back. Both of them. Alive or - otherwise." He gave us a quizzy look. "Do you have any news of Arya? I know you British can do some incredible things, and she may well still be alive somewhere."

"We had her at our embassy for a while," Dick Burton admitted. "She was a general favorite. I was impressed with her fencing skills." At this, Robb Stark grinned. He apparently wasn't a bit surprised that his little sister would have taken up such a sport. "But when she saw your father being executed, she slipped out of our embassy and we couldn't find her. If we find where she is, we'll be sure to notify you immediately. We had her there to protect her from the royal authorities."

"That's good to hear. You are a true knight, Ser Richard. And you, too, Ser Harry," he added, nodding to me. "We got word of how you saved my older sister from that mob in Kings Landing, and how your good lady stood up to that monster on the throne when he was abusing her."

"To us it was just ordinary business," Dick demurred. All the locals present looked mightily impressed. He went on: "It's getting late. Shall we resume talks tomorrow?"

"No. Tomorrow I'm for the Twins. My uncle Edmure's to marry one of the Frey girls."

"Like you did?" I put in. I'd heard about how Catelyn Stark had negotiated her son's army's passage over the Frey's d*nable bridge. I knew that medieval nobility generally married for advantage, but it did strike me as cold-blooded.

"No, I married another woman. You'd have met her, but Jayne is currently expecting, and not feeling too well. She'll be along as we go to the Twins. You'll accompany us, as well. The Freys won't mind a few more guests."

I was picturing Walder Frey's face when he found out about this affront to his d*nable House. He was as prickly as a hedgehog and as peevish as a badger, and this would not go over well at all. Going to the Twins struck me as sticking our heads into a lion's maw. I tried to catch Dick's eye to warn him, but he nodded in agreement.

As I prepared for bed that night, I felt like a giant icy owl was trapped in my stomach and flapping to get out. I just hoped the wedding would go peacefully.

[1] See Flashman's Lady.

[2] See Flash for Freedom!

[3] "Soup and fish" - a term for formal men's clothes in Victorian times.

[4] See Flashman and the Redskins.

[5] Flashman is referring to Ann Boleyn, Catherine Howard and Lady Jane Grey.