The next day, the camp lookout reported that two heavily-laden carts were approaching from the south. A patrol was sent out and swiftly returned, one having given his horse to one of the newcomers.

Jon was utterly taken aback to recognize the dismounting messenger.

"Ser Brienne ?"

"My lord Hand."

Brienne of Tarth brought up her sword in salute.

"His Highness ordered me to escort the smith Mott to you, saying you would have need of him here."

Jon blinked in surprise. The raven containing the latest news had been sent only last evening, it was impossible that it could have arrived at King's Landing so soon. Bran's visions must have warned him to send them.

"We will, but you've arrived too early for that."

He would have said more, but there was a cry of unadulterated joy as Tormund caught sight of Brienne. The next few minutes were spent attempting to restrain the one from embracing the other and the other from striking the one with the hilt of her sword.

Gendry arrived just as Tobho finished setting up his workshop to his liking. The two men exchanged glances, but said nothing. At last Tobho spoke up. The years and siege of King's Landing had not improved his temper.

"So, I hear you're a king now. You'll excuse me if I don't bow, my back gives me trouble. Don't have the luxury of sitting on a fancy chair all day and giving orders to servants."

Gendry took a few steps closer and spoke, his voice flat. He picked up a hammer from a workbench. It was no warhammer, but a thing heavy enough to shape white-hot steel shattered skulls with ease.

"Master Mott, before anything else I have one thing to say to you. I won't lie, I've been thinking about it ever since you sold me to the Night's Watch without an explanation."

Tobho looked his former apprentice in the eyes.

"Luckily, I've learned why you did so. Thank you."

The smith still did not speak, but his face showed clear relief. He blinked, and turned away.

"I'm glad you escaped, lad. You always had the makings of a fine smith."

"Better smith than king. I'd spend my days at the forge if they'd let me."

Tobho looked around.

"Well, I'll need an assistant. You being royalty now, I'm sure you can find me a good strong lad while you get on with your duties."

Gendry hefted the hammer casually.

"Master... Master Mott, I'm sure you don't need both your legs to be a fine smith. That way you too can sit in a chair all day and give orders to underlings."

The Essosi broke into a grin.

"Heh ! Good to see iron's still in your blood."

Jon entered the forge at that moment and spoke to Mott.

"Master smith, you remember Ser Stark's sword?"

"That I do. One of my better works, I think."

"We need you to reforge the blade as it was."

Tobho paused.

"What, from Ser Brienne's sword alone?"

"No, from both. We sent a raven to Dragonstone and they'll send the other as soon as they can."

The smith sighed as Jon left.

"There's a lesson I should have taught you long ago, lad. Customers are never satisfied, always think they know better than you, and there's no gain in pointing out they speak black and white in the same breath. Don't contradict them, don't let them see what you think of them, and after they ask you to fix their mistakes, you can charge whatever you want."

A door slammed open and Akkarulf only avoided having his nose broken by backing into Aron. The Wolf emerged from the hall, looking furious. The smell of exotic perfumes, spices, wine and women still surrounded him.

"The hell do you want?"

"J- just reporting, jarrl. We still have food and water enough, but it's arrows and cloth we're running low on."

"Hrrh."

The Wolf expelled air between his teeth, but nodded. Akkarulf felt emboldened enough to continue asking.

"Is everything all right, yarrl?"

The Wolf gave him a black look.

"The geld-bitch will not be joining us for some time, he's busy composing a play commemorating his life's story and his greatest exploits. The orgy scenes alone will take up half a day, and he wants rehearsals. Those at the walls will need to pull double watches."

The giant started mumbling inaudibly.

"Yarrl ?"

Something had evidently boiled over inside the Wolf, who looked at the portal in the courtyard as he ranted.

"Any of them. I could have had any of them. I could have had Festus, who'd have had them on their knees in minutes, or Vilitch, who at least can fight for a wizard, I could have had... Valkia..."

The Wolf's voice trailed off, his fists opened, and he stared into the distance before shaking his head.

"But no. Of all of them, I get that vicious little slutmonger. Out of all the men the masters could have sent me, the only ones I would have wanted less were the shades of Sveinbjorn and Viglundr. I'd even take Kholek Sun-Eater if I had to supply his every meal."

"Then why not challenge him ?"

From the glare he got in response Akkarulf knew this had not been the right thing to say.

"Challenge the Chosen of Slaanesh ? If you're thinking of taking up a career as a jester, Akkarulf, I don't see you having much success."

"No yarrl ! But... you can't be... well..."

"Afraid to fight him."

Akkarulf cringed as the Wolf turned to him, remaining silent for slightly too long. Aron looked from one to the other, clearly expecting a fight. The Wolf sighed.

"The question is not there, Akkarulf. He is faster than me, true, though I daresay I might hit harder. But I will no more challenge him than a man at sea makes a hole in the hull of his ship to get rid of a barnacle. Sigvald was sent here by the will of the gods, as I was, to play his part in their plans. To remove him, or myself, is to spit in their faces and invite my doom, not just in death but for all eternity."

"But... can't you challenge him for leadership, and leave him alive?"

The Wolf shook his head.

"You have played the king's game against Sven ?"

Akkarulf was surprised at the sudden question.

"Er. Yes ?"

"Imagine that, as you were about to move a piece, it sprang to life, and decided your plan was not to its liking, and refused to budge. If the pieces were to settle their private grudges, or flee the board, or otherwise disobey your commands."

Akkarulf nodded, unsure where the Wolf was going.

"We are the pieces on the board, to be moved by the gods as they see fit, and we obey. Oh, they grant us strength, fame and glory when we impress them, but take it away just as easily... all the more so if we act against their wishes. The Geld-Prince is here by their will, and so we must obey... even if it means we are to stay holed up in this miserable pile of stone until the weaklings out there find the damned jaws."

Akkarulf frowned.

"All of us ?"

The Wolf looked at him, but said nothing.

"What if... what if you took a warband and left it outside the castle, near a village, yarrl ? Then they could at least raise some tribute for the masters."

Still the Wolf said nothing, but eventually nodded.

"I'll think on it."

Akkarulf nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He could not have said for sure what had planted the idea in his head. The giant turned on his heel, but stopped and pointed a finger at Aron.

"You've been fucking that girl again, I can smell it. Do you understand being a bodyguard means not running off every time you get hard?"

Akkarulf interjected.

"He hasn't left me alone, yarrl. Only when his turn is up."

The Wolf grunted.

"Pfft. Followers of the Serpent, all the same."

Now the Wolf turned and left.

Aron looked wide-eyed at Akkarulf and nodded frantically. Akkarulf shrugged.

"I know, I know. Maybe if you washed after seeing her? Let's go, I haven't looked in on Qyburn yet."

Aron took his place at Akkarulf's shoulder and they left for the cellars.

That evening, isolated men approached the halls of Harrenhal under cover of the new moon. One placed a twisted metal tube to his lips and blew, producing a horrid sound. Then the others did the same, until the air around the walls carried the sound of a score of warhorns. At last the cacophony ended, the noisemakers slipped away towards the war-camp, and all was quiet again.

Atop the walls, confusion reigned as the guards reacted to the alarm, seeking the attackers announced by the sentry's horn, then tried to find who had sounded the alarm in the first place. Lack of sleep and irritation prevented them from realizing the sound came from far below until sunrise. The watchmen went to their beds jumpy and nervous, imagining the Wolf's reaction on learning the events of the night.