It was noon the next day before the Wolf made an appearance at the head of a mounted troop, waiting half a shortbow's shot from the war-camp's gate. Hurriedly Jon, Grey Worm, Tyrion and Goro assembled their own entourage and guards, not knowing what the madman might want this time. Sansa and Aldma joined them just as they left the camp, one look at Sansa telling Jon that she would not be told to stay in relative safety.
As they approached, the Wolf dismounted, as did a huge warrior in a bear-like helm carrying an enormous bow and a cloth sack. Tyrion was surprised to see the rest of his escort was made up solely of Dothraki, but he could not tell why they looked unusual until he noticed how short their hair was.
The Wolf waited for Jon to dismount, but did not speak, instead looking behind them at the war-camp, as though he could see through the wooden palisade. Then he locked eyes with Jon.
"Tell me, how much longer can you continue the siege?"
Jon hesitated before answering.
"What do you mean?"
The Wolf swung out an arm in the direction of the war-camp.
"My warriors took quite the harvest of skulls in the last battle. How soon can you replenish yours? A week? Two? A month? Not before their children reach manhood, and the flower of youth is sent to die under these walls?"
There was appalled silence.
The Wolf nodded.
"Indeed. Now, such slaughters are of no interest to me. I have learned that, once again, victory one way or the other is conditional, and depends on you or I finding something."
The barbarian looked genuinely angry, as though it was a waste of time for all involved.
"I don't know what it is, or where it might be, but this war cannot end until it is found. I was at a siege once that lasted ten years because their gods kept finding new demands to guarantee an outcome, be it stones or horses or a feat of strength. You don't want that, neither do I."
Jon spoke slowly, loathing the idea of agreeing with the Wolf but seeing no choice.
"And what is it that we must find?"
The Wolf nodded.
" 'The jaw of a wolf, broken in two, then stolen by a lion.' Those I have sent to look for it have yet to return, and though I could scour the world looking for it, it could easily take as long as at Wilusa. Knowing how little stomach you southerners have for battle, I would then have to reunite the Seven- or Nine, rather- Kingdoms, all over again."
Tyrion interjected as quickly as he could, in case anyone else started talking and gave away the secret that was no secret to anyone in Westeros.
"And you were told nothing else about it?"
The Wolf shook his head.
"Nothing. Send word to the East, I hear lions are more plentiful there, perhaps there is a lord who amuses himself in having animals tear themselves apart or to eat them. Or maybe it is a rock formation, or some creature of myth."
The Wolf shrugged irritably.
"And have your ember-priests look for it, they may as well make themselves useful for more than lighting cooking fires and spreading the word of their god on the backs of small boys."
Tyrion interjected to ensure Aldma did not attack the Wolf as he himself felt like doing.
"And will you attack again in the meantime?"
The Wolf turned to Tyrion.
"This war cannot end before both are reunited. But I will not give pitched battle until this happens, no. Send for what reinforcements you can, you'll need them."
Tyrion tried to keep his voice level.
"Then we will start looking immediately. "
The Wolf nodded once.
"Good!"
A noise interrupted them. From out of the gate of the war-camp darted a chicken, pursued by one of Ramsay's hounds, the trainer dragged behind. The dog pounced, devouring the bird alive. The Wolf nodded approvingly as the trainer tried to pull the hound's chain to no avail.
"A fine pack of hounds you brought along, I hope to face them. Who do they belong to?"
"Me."
Sansa spurred her horse forward, doing her best to look the Wolf in the eye. He nodded appreciatively.
"Ah, Lady Stark."
"I have reason to believe you killed their former owner."
The Wolf shrugged.
"I've killed a lot of dog-owners, you'll have to be more specific."
"Ramsay Snow. One of the worst men in the North."
"Ah, him. That I did. I certainly wish he'd had them at the time, Tilean castrates fight harder than he did. I daresay his death in battle would have redeemed some of his sins, but he fled that to the end."
"You would know."
The barbarian looked puzzled.
"Eh?"
"You too send men to ignominous deaths without regard for what they wanted."
The Wolf blinked.
"What?"
"At Winterfell, there was a man who wanted to hold the line against the Night King. Then you sent him away, to be killed by the wights. You denied him the death he wanted, to make up for all the mistakes he'd made in his life. Because of you, he died against the dead instead of their king. You stole his death."
The Wolf looked blankly at Sansa and sighed.
"How do you know?"
Now Sansa blinked.
"What?"
"How do you know it was the death he wanted?"
"He volunteered for it!"
The Wolf shook his head.
"All warriors imagine that at the moment they die, it will be standing triumphant atop the broken corpses of their foes. No man likes to think that his death will find him unawares, swiftly and suddenly as a forest-elf ambush."
The barbarian shrugged.
"He might have faced his end with dignity, perhaps... or he might have collapsed into a weeping wretch, begging to be allowed to tongue the corpse-king's mummified arsehole if it would let him live a moment longer."
Sansa pressed on, doing her best to ignore the barbarian's words. Theon would not have fled his duty, not when it was the only thing he had left to lose, she was sure of it.
"He wouldn't have. But you denied him the chance to find out."
The Wolf looked at her curiously.
"Who was he to you, anyway? Your lover?"
Sansa's fist curled, but she refrained from punching the oaf. From the corner of her eye she saw Jon doing much the same.
"He was... almost a brother."
The Wolf snorted.
" 'Almost'? What, some bastard your father sired on a tavern wench-"
The two Northern lords on either side of Jon managed to grab his arms before he could draw his sword.
"-or a gift from the stableboy your mother called to her bedchamber whenever her husband was at war? Such "brothers" can be found thicker than grass at the court of any lordling or slaveowner. Snow's brother was one such waste of a year, I'll wager."
Sansa's voice was colder than the waters of the lake. Behind her there was much puzzlement until the assembly realized the Wolf still believed Ramsay and Jon to be related.
"He was raised alongside us. He made many mistakes in his life, and wanted to atone for them. All I wanted was for him to be aware of it, and because of you, he died without even knowing he was forgiven."
The Wolf snorted again, covering up the noise his henchman made as he dropped his bow.
"Such a heartwarming tale. A shame I have little reason to believe it."
"What!?"
The Wolf sounded unimpressed.
"I'm told someone threw your own brother from a window. And once that happened, there was no effort to find or punish the culprit. I'm supposed to believe you care more for some outsider than your own brother by blood? Some family you come from, that values appearance and social rank above justice."
Sansa looked disgusted. There was not a shred of honor in the barbarian.
"Clearly it's not something you could ever understand."
Without another word, Sansa turned around and left, her message delivered.
The Wolf said nothing until she left, but turned to Goro.
"Ah, Goro. I see that you finally stirred yourself from your habitual orgies to act like a chief for perhaps the first time in your life."
Tyrion saw the khal's fist tighten as he heard the Wolf's words, both in his tongue and the Dothraki's. The Wolf's provocations had little effect on parchment, but in person they might well overcome his sense of preservation.
"I have something that belongs to you."
The Wolf reached out a hand behind him. The marauder in the bear helm gave him a roughly-made sack that tinkled as it was moved, from which the Wolf pulled a handful of long black material, tossing them at the khal's feet.
Goro looked at the braids of the defeated Deathbound with little emotion, not even looking at their former owners. He and the Wolf locked gazes for a moment, then Goro nodded. The Wolf followed suit, his expression neither mocking nor furious for once, and turned around, evidently deciding there was nothing more he needed to hear or say. His escort followed him.
The khal watched him leave, then turned around, kicking at the braids.
"Have this filth drowned in a swamp or the sea, they do not deserve to ride among the stars."
In the great tent, the commanders now assembled to discuss their next move.
Goro spoke first.
"We must find these wolf-jaws and ensure we find them before he does, but I have never heard tell of such a thing or place."
Grey Worm nodded.
"Or of any animal in any myth of Essos."
"No need, I know what he means."
Both Essosi looked at Tyrion.
"It's obvious he means Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail, even if he doesn't know it."
Tyrion noted with satisfaction that more than a few Westeros had already figured it out, a wave of nodding heads spreading across the assembled lords. Goro and Grey Worm, however, looked blank. Tyrion explained.
"The "wolf" was Eddard Stark, who Cersei had executed, and his sword melted down into two smaller swords, Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail. He's saying we'll need to reforge Ice before this war can end."
"And where are they?"
"Ser Brienne has Oathkeeper, but Widow's Wail was left back in Dragonstone."
"And to reforge it?"
"We can ask Gendry."
Tyrion left the tent as the discussion went on, feeling strangely elated. At last they had an advantage over the Wolf that could be used against him. Perhaps the Red Priests would know more about the barbarian's belief that the war could not end without the sword.
And if there would be no pitched battles, they could fight in ways more to his liking.