Arya
After Queen Selyse and Lord Alester discovered her watching them they imprisoned Arya inside her chambers. She soon lost count of how many days she'd been locked away. The only people she saw were the servants tended her chambers, bringing food, drink, and changing her bedding. As the days paste her by Arya tried to escape her chamber, her cell, twice.
Arya made her first attempt when the servants arrived with her breakfast. She rushed past them as they opened the door. She squeezed her skinny body past their hips and into the hall beyond them. The women shrieked, but the pair of Baratheon guardsmen outside her room moved like wolves. In seconds they'd grabbed her arms and forced her back inside. They didn't beat her afterward like the Lannisters would have. Thank the gods for small mercies, Arya thought as she nursed the bruises on her arms. Instead, the Baratheons simply denied her food for the rest of the day.
Next, she tried to climb out of her window. She opened her window late in the afternoon. At a time when the setting sun cast her window and the tower wall into shadow and any guard would have to look into the sun to spot her. She pulled open the shutters and slipped out. Letting her legs dangle over the edge. Then she froze, suddenly climbing the heights didn't seem like such a good idea. One look at the vast space of empty air beneath her sent her head to spinning. Arya climbed back inside as fast as she could. She closed the window behind her. Bran could have done it, she thought, as she climbed into her bed. He wouldn't have been afraid.
Weeks after her imprisonment began the door opened and the guards entered her room for the first time since her escape attempt. They were accompanied by a pair handmaidens. "Your presence has been requested mi'lady," the older handmaiden said.
Arya wanted, almost by instinct, to defy them. But as much as she didn't want to admit it she wished to be free of her chambers more than anything. Arya took one last bite of her bacon and left with the handmaidens.
Arya followed the handmaidens through the halls of the Red Keep. Her guards were never far behind her. As she took her place in the throne room's gallery Arya saw Stannis for the first time. He was tall and broad like both of his brothers. Unlike his brothers, King Stannis' black hair was cut very short, from the distance his hair and beard looked like a shadow. His skin was tight and like leather over his face rather than rushed with colour like Lord Renly's had been, or with wine as King Robert's face had been. The king sat upright on the Iron Throne, looking straight forward, and barely deigning to glance at his subjects as the filled the hall.
In the shadow of the Iron Throne sat the Small Council. Old Lord Ardrian Celtigar, distinguished Lord Yohn Royce, ancient Lord Eldon Estermont, the silver-haired and proper Lord Alester Florent, and a red-haired woman in red robes Arya had never seen before. Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen were there as well. As Arya took her seat in the gallery, close to the Iron Throne, she saw Shireen wave at her. After a moment's hesitation, Arya waved back. Be polite, be proper, be courteous. Arya repeated the words like a prayer.
Slowly, the throne room filled with the lords and ladies of Stannis' court. Arya recognized some of them from her time at King Robert's court with her father, but most were new faces. Despite this, somethings hadn't changed at all. The courtiers still mingled in small groups and cliques. One, larger than the others, had gathered in the opposite end of the throne room from the king and the Small Council. At first glance, there was nothing to distinguish them from the other lordly cliques. But upon a closer look, Arya saw that each man had a seven-pointed star sewn into the breast of his doublet. Slowly the room filled and the chatter grew until King Stannis raised a hand to silence the hall.
Stannis did not wait on ceremony, with a word he began to deliver his judgement. The prisoners from Bitterbridge were brought in one by one. First came the Westermen. Barely more than a hundred of them, they seemed pitifully few compared to the soldiers that surrounded them. A few Arya recognized from her weeks at Harrenhal. Lannister men, she thought, and she smiled as Stannis dispossessed them of their lands, titles, and freedom. Only a rare few of the Westermen were allowed to bend the knee and then be accepted into the King's Peace. Some of the Westermen were sentenced to death by the king. But the fate of most was to spend their lives in exile at the wall or in Essos. The Westermen accepted their fate with grim silence.
Next came the Reachmen. They were fewer in number than the Westermen and seemed far more uncertain. Stannis waited the last prisoners were put in their places before he spoke.
"Thrice you have defied my offer of fealty," he said to the Reachmen. "And four times you have raised your arms against me in battle. At Storm's End, at Bitterbridge, at the Cockleswent, and at Bitterbridge again. You have seen the fate of those who swore their oaths to me. To rise high in my service and be justly rewarded, there can be no excuses for your treachery. I strip all of you of your lands and titles, I denounce you and sentence you to die."
The Reachmen erupted from silence into panic and anger. A man with a huge black moustache rushed forward, struggling against his chains, and he screamed at Stannis. "Mad King! Heathen! Apostate!"
A soldier smashed him in the face with the pommel of his sword. Stunned and spitting blood and teeth, the man didn't resist as the soldiers dragged him away. Even as the soldiers beat them to the ground, the Reachmen continued to hurl insults and accusations at the King on the Iron Throne. All the while Stannis sat like a statue on the Iron Throne.
Stannis stayed still and silent until the last prisoners were forced out of the throne room by his soldiers. Then Stannis spoke again. "Lord Justin Massey."
A smiling blond man Arya recognized from her first day back in King's Landing strode forward and kneeled before.
"In the light of the death of Lord Davos Seaworth, I confirm unto you the position of Lord Commander of Dragons."
Whatever that means, Arya frowned as the blond lord smiled, bowed, and returned to his place among the soldiers.
"Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank," Stannis' called, and a tall, thin man, with a long narrow beard came forward.
The man bowed once to the king and then stood still in dark purple robes. "Thank you, Your Grace, for seeing me." The Braavosi waited a moment for Stannis to respond, but the seconds stretched into awkward silence he began to speak. "His Grace, King Robert, borrowed heavily from the Iron Bank during his rule."
"I know very well who my brother borrowed from," Stannis interrupted. "And I know very well why you are here. You've come to take back your borrowed gold."
Tycho Nestoris bobbed his head like a bird. "The debt is substantial, Your Grace, and with the war ending the Iron Bank believed that the time was opportune to approach you about the matter of the debt."
"You are a worse pirate than Salladhor Saan." Somewhere in the crowd, Arya heard a man laugh. "And this war is not yet done, but a true king pays his debts." Stannis leaned forward slightly. "I will acknowledge the debt, and begin payments once Joffrey Waters is in chains, and Casterly Rock has fallen."
Tycho Nestoris' face revealed nothing, but he bowed politely to the king. "I will be staying in King's Landing these next few weeks Your Grace. Should Your Grace wish to discuss matters in more detail I would be most happy to do so." Then the banker turned and left the throne room.
A quiet pause passed over the hall as everyone waited for Stannis to speak again, but it was not the King who spoke it was his Hand.
Silence passed through the hall as everyone waited for King Stannis to speak again, but it was not the King who spoke, instead it was his Hand.
Lord Alester rose from his place amongst the Small Council and strode quickly to stand at the base of the Iron Throne. "My lords and ladies, knights, loyal men, and women," Lord Alester spoke loudly and clearly. "Let us rejoice in King Stannis' victory over the false king, the abomination, Joffrey Waters, and his band of rebels and traitors. Let us rejoice that His Grace, Stannis the One True King of Westeros has won such a battle at so little a cost."
Lord Alester paused and tentative a round of applause rose from all those present. Save, Arya noticed, from the Small Council, where the woman in red robes sat in silence. Lord Alester waited for the applause to end naturally before continuing his speech. "Such battles have of course happened before in the long history of Westeros. My own ancestor King Garth V Gardener won such a battle against House Yronwood. The Battle of the Princes, where no less than seven Yronwood princes went to the Stranger, ending the Dornish threat for a generation. Afterward, King Garth founded one of the greatest orders of knighthood in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, the Order of the Green Hand." He paused for a breath. "An order that helped to forge a hundred petty kingdoms into a single mighty realm. Not for naught is it said that the Kingdom of the Reach was born on that day. His Grace, King Stannis, has chosen to honour of his own victories and the sacrifices of his lords and knights. By founding his own knightly order. Today will mark the first day of the Order of the Iron Throne." A roar of applause rose from the gallery as lords and ladies rose to their feet to welcome the first knightly order founded in centuries.
King Stannis stood and descended the steps of the Iron Throne. At the broad base of the Iron Throne. There he was joined by Lord Alester and the six knights of the kingsguard. Together they stood in a line as a hundred men came forward to accept their place in the Order of the Iron Throne. Each man was made to swear again, or for the first time in some cases, their vows of knighthood, and to swear an oath of loyalty to Stannis, the King on the Iron Throne, to Shireen, the Princess of Dragonstone, and to the Iron Throne itself. They swore by whatever gods they held. Most swore by the Seven, but also to the Old Gods, the Red God, and even to the Drowned God. For a pair of grizzled father and son sellswords called Erik the Elder and Erik the Younger, swore their oaths before Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Rolland Storm. Steelshanks Walton, the Bolton man who had led Arya's guards on her way to King's Landing, knelt and rose Ser Walton Steelshanks, a knight in service of the Iron Throne. Stannis himself knighted dozens, the first two of which were Allard and Maric Seaworth.
Nearly an hour passed by before, all the newly made Knights of the Iron Throne had sworn their oaths. Only then were those present allowed to leave. After the audience, Arya's guards returned her to her rooms. The hours passed much as they had previously. But as the sun began to set, the guards outside opened her door to let the Hand of the King into her room. Arya stood as the old man stepped to the center of her room. The thin silver-haired lord towered over Arya. Lord Alester's silver silk doublet glittered with garnets and lapis lazuli.
"Sit," he commanded.
Arya bit her tongue as she tried to hold back her anger. "Yes my lord," she curtsied as gracefully as she could. "Would it please my lord to-"
"Stop," Lord Alester interrupted her. "My ancestors invented half of the courtesies in the Seven Kingdoms. So please, stop butchering them."
Arya went silent in shock.
"What?" Lord Alester asked as he sat in one of the chairs. "Did you actually think that you were fooling anyone with the wit to look?" He shook his head. "You can't trick a fox at his own game." Arya stood silently. "Sit," Lord Alester said again. "Do not make me repeat myself a third time."
Glumly, Arya sat and waited for Lord Alester to continue speaking.
"We highborn," Lord Alester mused. "We spend all our lives learning how to talk for hours without saying anything at all. Most of us anyway," he smirked. "Some prefer to simply speak their minds and damn the consequences. His Grace is like that." Lord Alester shifted slightly and focused his keen pale green eyes on Arya. "You tried to conceal your true nature and failed. You're stubborn, willful, and proud. Had you been born a boy or even simply your father's heir those traits might have been encouraged. As it stands you're a poor lady." Lord Alester shook his head despairingly. "Then you let yourself get caught spying on me and the queen."
Arya's face fell and she stared at her feet. Her face flushed red with embarrassment. She'd not felt so humiliated since her lessons with Septa Mordane.
Lord Alester sniffed. "Were it up to Queen Selyse you'd be in the black cells right now or mayhaps executed for treason," he chuckled. Arya eyed him nervously. "Instead Princess Shireen has invited you to dine with her tonight," Lord Alester chuckled again. "Do you know why that is."
"No," Arya said hesitantly.
"Because for some reason only the gods know she likes you," he shook his head. "A bare month ago Shireen wouldn't have dared to so much as disagree with her mother. Now she openly defies her and all for you. I think you had some part to play in that. I trust you'll accept the princess' offer?"
"Yes my lord," Arya answered quietly.
Lord Alester stood quickly. "Excellent." He left without a moment's hesitation, not bothering to close the door. A pair of servants entered, armed with a new dress
Catelyn
The wedding was a swift affair. It was held in the Wolf's Den, the ancient fortress that White Harbour had been built around. Within the ancient fort were a godswood and a heart tree. Beneath the great spread of its branches the wedding couple was joined by all their family and all their loyal vassals. The lords and knights sworn to House Manderly and more who came from farther away. They were petty lords, landed knights, and freemen. The greatest of these was Ser Medger Locke, the stocky heir of old Lord Ondrew Locke of Oldcastle, who came with half a thousand foot and fifty horse. Robb welcomed him with good grace and granted him a seat on his council.
Lady Wylla arrived in a dress of silver, blue, and green. Her green dyed hair was tied into a tight braid that fell down over her shoulder. Her great blue-green cloak dragged along the ground behind her. Robb waited by the horrible scowling face of the heart tree. He was clad in a grey tunic of the finest wool. A snow white cloak emblazoned with a leaping direwolf hung from his shoulders. The cloak, dress, and tunic had, save for a few last minute adjustments, already been ready for the ceremony. Lady Wynafryd prepared her household well for this moment.
It was decided that it would be best not to waste time on a lengthy and dramatic wedding ceremony. Ser Marlon led Lady Wylla through the godswood and the crowd of watchers to where Robb waited for her. Together they began to speak the words that would bind them in matrimony for the rest of their days. Catelyn felt her eyes well with unwanted tears. They rolled down her face and fell onto her lap. Unbidden, her eyes fell to look at her legs. Even hidden beneath a thick, tearstained, fur blanket it was obvious that her muscles had withered away. That her legs, which had once been strong and shapely, were now as thin and brittle as sticks. Even if she were to miraculously regain their use today, she would lack the strength to stand.
When she looked back up the ceremony was almost over. Robb reached awkwardly over his shoulder to pull his cloak around with one hand. But it was not her son and gooddaughter that caught Catelyn's attention. It was the huge heart tree that stood guard in the center of the Wolf's Den. So massive its branches stretched into the nearby windows and halls of the castle. According to legend, the scowling face had been carved to frighten away the pirates and slavers that had once threatened the North. Now the scowl seemed oddly familiar and far less horrible to look upon. She fought back more tears as she remembered how Bran would scowl if he was caught doing something he shouldn't have done. She looked away from the eyes and Robb was pulling his cloak around Wylla's shoulders. Without the aid of a second hand, he nearly dropped it, but he caught it at the last moment. Husband and wife kissed once, and a cheer swelled from the lords and ladies of the North. Then the king and the new queen led their people back to the New Castle. Catelyn followed, pushed along in her cursed chair by a servant. As servants and guests gathered in the hall for the wedding feast, the bride, groom, and their closest family travelled to the House Manderly's private sept inside the New Castle.
The septon said his words quickly and dabbed Robb and Wylla on their foreheads with holy oils. The wedding in the godswood had been swift but the wedding in the sept took barely a fifth the time. Before all the guests had even made their way into the great hall of the New Castle, King Robb and Queen Wylla had taken their places on the dais, flanked by their mothers. Catelyn sat by Wylla and Lady Leona sat next to Robb. Lady Wynafryd's own seat on Catelyn's other side.
The feast passed by in a blur, just as the wedding had. For a time Wylla tried to make small talk with Catelyn and Robb but eventually quieted as neither Stark felt much like speaking.
For all that White Harbour was soon going to be under siege the feast was stocked with far from simple fare. There was black stout, yellow beer, red, gold, or purple wines, brought up from the warm south on fat-bottomed ships and aged in the New Castle's deep cellars. The wedding guests gorged themselves on fried cod, eels, hills of peas, and three great bowls of simmering fish soup. On the fires, roasted slabs of mutton and beef charred almost black. The center of the feast was a huge pie. It's crisp crust stuffed to bursting with carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, mushrooms, and with lamprey swimming in the juices. As she watched a Manderly bannerman tripped as he cut a slice out of the pie and sent a fifth of it spilling onto the table, Catelyn felt her face grow tight at the sight of such waste.
"None of it would keep," Wynafryd Manderly leaned over to answer Catelyn's unvoiced concerns. "None of this would keep long in a siege. It's better to eat it now and start the hardship stuffed to bursting with food and joy. Even now our servants and soldiers are taking every bit of grain, barley, and livestock from our lands. Our ships scour the Bite for seafood. The enemy is at yet a week distant. Whatever is eaten here will be replenished a tenfold."
Catelyn said nothing as she chewed her lamprey without thought.
The bedding was nearly as swift as the wedding. As the last of the great lamprey pie was finished the chanting began. Men and women, their wits and tongues loosened by wine and ale, rose almost as one as they called for the bedding. Most brides were nervous at best when it came time for the bedding, but Wylla seemed to embrace her role. She japed and teased the men around her as they carried her up the stairs. Robb, on the other hand, was as tense a man as Catelyn had ever seen. Catelyn finished her meal and had a servant take her to bed.
Robb came to her again that night. Her servants left quietly to leave Catelyn and her son in solitude.
"Ser Marlon and Lady Wynafryd still refuse to give me command of their host. Unless I defend White Harbour."
"Then that is your only choice."
Robb huffed. "Wars aren't won hiding behind walls."
"Wars aren't lost that way either," Catelyn said. "Swords, spears, and arrows are all fine weapons but they are not the greatest weapon in your armoury." Robb stayed silent as he waited for Catelyn to finish. "Your name is. You are Eddard Stark's heir. Your father was beloved in almost every part of the North. The longer you stand defiant against Roose the more men will rally to your cause. Send out riders to gather the North, raise an army out of the fields, the woods, and the mountains."
Robb stood and began to pace back and forth. "Yes!" He said. "Yes! I'll turn every house in White Harbour into a fort. Every square and alley into a death trap. All of White Harbour into an enormous trap to fix the turncloaks in place for all the North to fall on them. Hah!"
Joy grew in her heart to hear Robb be something other than haunted and shaken for the first time in months. But it was tempered by the knowledge that it was only the promise of more bloodshed that had pushed back the shadow around her son.
Galbart Glover left at dawn leading a company of two score riders, mounted on four score of the swiftest horses in White Harbour. They went north armed with letters, banners, and promises from the King in the North.
Catelyn spent most of the next week in relative solitude. For all their courtesy the ladies of the New Castle avoided her. Catelyn saw the glances they gave at her chair, at her legs. Rather than socialize Catelyn instead fell into the comfortable habit of her needlework. She stitched patterns more from habit than any real desire.
The army gathering within the walls of White Harbour swelled for weeks only to suddenly shrink when Robb commanded Maege Mormont lead half the army out to gather at Winterfell with whatever reinforcements Galbart Glover gathered. Thousands of the city's denizens left with Lady Maege. Most of them were women, children, the old, and the sick. What remained of the population was quickly put to work fortifying every inch of the city, and supplying it for the coming siege. Foodstuffs, stones, and lumber were gathered from outside the city by hundreds of wagons every day. Buildings were torn down to clear the ground for archers. Only one gate was kept in use, the rest were sealed by rubble. The fishing fleets worked tirelessly to take all they could from the sea. White Harbour stank with the smell of smokehouses working at all hours to preserve as much fish and meat as possible.
The energy that had returned to Robb that night continued to burn brightly. He rushed from one end of White Harbour to the other, and often ranged beyond the walls, dealing with troubles and issues in person. He lent his royal authority to nearly every part of the preparations. But as the days passed by, word of Roose Bolton's coming grew. The enemy's scouts and outriders were skirmishing with foragers. As the enemy army neared the skirmishing outside the walls grew fiercer, and the enemy grew more numerous. Eventually, the foragers were forced from the lands of House Manderly altogether by the ferocity of the enemy outriders. But that paled in comparison to the devastation the enemy fleet wrought at sea. In a single night more than half of the Manderly fishing fleet was destroyed or captured, and much of the rest were left too damaged to sail and were instead left to be torn apart for material. The few survivor's put much of the blame on the actions of a war galley with ghostly grey and black sails.
The next day the enemy fleet blockaded White harbour. The huge war galleys floated menacingly in the cold waters of the Bite. The day after that the fields around White Harbour turned dark with enemy soldiers.
The next day an envoy came with a banner of truce, a weirwood branch still full with leaves like bloody hands. Robb bade her come with him as they rode out to where the enemy commanders awaited them.
Roose Bolton waited for them a mile from the gates of White Harbour. He was flanked by Ser Imry Florent and Lord Harrion Karstark, with more captains, lords, and knights behind him. Most prominently were grizzled and one-armed Harwood Stout, young and proud Dale Seaworth, old and crooked Arnolf Karstark, plump Duram Bar Emmon, and Ramsay Snow the pale-eyed Bastard of Bolton. Beyond them, their army was still preparing their camp for the siege.
Robb rode forward accompanied by Ser Marlon, Ser Helman Tallhart, Ser Medger Locke, and Catelyn herself. Her son brought his white and grey dappled horse to a halt ten feet from Roose Bolton.
The Lord of the Dreadfort's pale eyes passed over Robb and his companions, settling for a moment on the straps that bound Catelyn to her saddle. She was half surprised when no cruel smile or piteous look came over his face. Roose Bolton simply looked past her like she was barely there. "My lords," he said at last. "How good of you to come treat with me this fine day." The low sound of thunder to the southwest gave lie to his words.
"There is nothing good in this," Robb spat. "Only a duty to hear what you would say."
"Oh but I come with such good news for House Stark," Roose said quietly, the cold northern wind almost stealing his words away. "I wonder, did Ser Helman make mention that he was told of my loyalties by a young servant girl?"
"He did," Robb said suspiciously after a moment's silence broken only by the distant sound of thunder from a storm far to the south. "That girl risked her life to reveal your treachery."
"I've no doubt that she's paid dearly for that since then," Ser Helman spat. "Traitors cannot risk loyalty in their midst." That set off a bout of muttering and pointed glares from the lords behind Roose Bolton.
The would-be Warden of the North said nothing at first if Ser Helman's barb had bothered him he gave no sign. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Robb. "She's safe and sound in the Red Keep, a personal guest of King Stannis. I'm told she's becoming a close friend of Princess Shireen."
"What game are you playing at Bolton?" Lady Maege asked. "No Riverlands servant girl is a worthy companion of a princess."
Finally, Roose Bolton smiled slightly. "You're correct of course, no servant girl would be a worthy friend, but the youngest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark would be."
Catelyn's heart skipped a beat. Since the beginning of the war, she'd had little news of Sansa and none at all of Arya. Save that the Lannisters were keeping them both in King's Landing. For a moment silence ruled the day, but only for a moment.
"You're lying," Robb said, breaking the silence as suddenly as it had come.
"Why would I do that?" Roose Bolton seemed almost amused by Robb's anger. "I have no reason to lie."
"It's not possible," Robb growled. "The Lannisters had my sisters imprisoned in the Red Keep."
"They lied," Roose said plainly. "Lady Arya fled the Red Keep during the chaos of Queen Cersei's coup and joined the company of a man of the Night's Watch who intended to take her back to Winterfell. Perhaps it's well that they ran afoul of Ser Amory Lorch, else Lady Arya would have been delivered to the Ironmen, who would no doubt be less gentle than King Stannis."
"Why tell me this? The Lannister's had a sister of mine captive and I fought on. You can't possibly have expected this news to make me surrender now?"
"My pardon but you seemed so concerned about family when we parted ways at the Twins," Roose Bolton shrugged slightly. "I had thought that you'd want to know."
Robb's anger simmered as he spoke again. "Did you desire to speak for any reason besides gossiping like an old woman?"
The north wind blew harder and colder for a moment. It sent Catelyn's cloak flying behind her and goosebumps racing up and down her body. Thunder echoed far to the south.
Roose Bolton shifted slightly in his saddle, his pale eyes never failing to meet Robb's. "How much food have you stockpiled within? Not enough, never enough. Not helped by the efforts of Lord Captain Imry and Lord Dale. How many fishing boats did you sink?" He turned slightly to glance at Dale Seaworth.
"Fifty-four answered," the young lord, the son of a smuggler, answered. "No less than ten by Wraith herself."
Roose Bolton looked back at Robb. "White Harbour will fall," he shifted slightly to face the lords behind Robb. "Though it remains to be seen who will fall with it."
Robb bristled at the threat but didn't let his anger speak for him. "I could say the same to you, my lords."
Eyes like chips of ice returned to Robb. "You're confident. Tell me, were you confident at the Feast for Crows as well?"
Robb's hand darted toward his sword and the rebels did the same. Dale Seaworth drew his sword fully and pushed his horse forward to block the path to Roose Bolton. The Lord of the Dreadfort himself merely pulled gently on the reins to give Dale Seaworth more room.
"My lords," Catelyn shouted. "Your Grace. Let us not dishonour this banner of truce."
Robb hesitated for a moment before his hand fell to his side. A moment later Dale Seaworth sheathed his sword. For a moment both parties stared at each other. Then Robb pulled on his reins and rode away. Catelyn and the other loyalists followed. Southern thunder echoed and the northern wind howled.
Arianne
Arianne left Sunspear in the company of Tyene, Ser Andrey Dalt, and five Martell guardsmen led by Ser Daemon Sand, who her father had named her sworn shield. The party of nine exited through the Threefold Gate in the late hours of the evening. They ventured from Sunspear into the Shadow City under the cover of darkness. Their party was mounted on swift Dornish sand steeds and together they made the journey to Planky Town in only a single night.
In the shade of the earliest hours of the morning, they joined Timoth, one of her father's most trusted servants, who had been sent ahead three days earlier to arrange passage on a ship. Timoth was waiting for them by the harbour at the mouth of the Greenblood and quickly guided them to a Pentoshi trading cog. The ship was called the Nightingale Dream and it was bound for Tyrosh, Myr, and half a hundred other towns that dotted the coast of the Disputed Lands. From Myr, Nightingale Dream would head north to Pentos, King's Landing, Gulltown, and Braavos. The old dignified captain hurried them aboard in thickly accented Common Tongue and showed them to a dark cabin. Inside, Arianne and her companions made themselves as comfortable as possible before falling into their beds. They were all asleep before the first rays of true sunlight rose above the horizon.
When they woke, well after midday, they discovered that the Nightingale Dream hadn't left Planky Town alone, it travelled in the company of three other ships. Two were Pentoshi cogs called Dancing Cat and Summer Prince. The third was a galley named Red Sunrise. At first, the lean and swift ship flew no banners, but once they passed out of sight of the Dornish coast Red Sunrise let fly a gruesome banner depicting a black skeleton worshiping from a blood red sun. From Arianne's glances of the motley and well-armed crew, it didn't take much to make her suspect that she sailed in the company of pirates. Though why pirates would be protecting a convoy of merchant ships she knew not. Later, she raised her questions in the limited privacy of her shared cabin.
"The Golden Company has made common cause with pirates before," Tyene said. "More than once in fact. I think that they mean to do so again.'
"I agree," Ser Andrey Dalt said from the comfort of a hammock. With his green felt hat pulled over his face one would be forgiven for thinking that he was asleep. As he spoke he sat up and pulled the hat on straight. "There are many who still remember the Ninepenny Kings on both sides of the Narrow Sea."
"Hmph," Ser Daemon grunted. "Allies or not, pirates can't be trusted they could just as easily betray us and deliver you," Ser Daemon jerked his head in Arianne's direction. "To their master and hold you for ransom or worse."
"We'll be on our guard then, not that there's much more we can do," Arianne said. "Unless you suggest that the four of us and five guardsmen could fight an entire pirate's crew by ourselves?"
"Hah," Ser Andrey laughed. "That would make quite a song to sing of."
In the end, their fears proved to be unfounded. Red Sunrise kept its distance and when their convoy was approached by dark sailed ships with a predatory look about them it turned to face them. Thrice Red Sunrise turned and thrice the would be attackers sailed away rather than face the lean red galley.
Their voyage took them through the twisting maze of islands that formed the Stepstones. From every shore rose crumbling stone and wooden keeps. Often they were surrounded by ramshackle seaside villages, always with at least half a dozen ships at harbour. In time they passed through the Stepstones and into waters patrolled by Tyroshi pirate hunters. Red Sunrise turned back before they sighted even a single Tyroshi ship. They passed without incident to the coast of the Disputed Lands. Here, every town had walls and a garrison of militia or sellswords, and every person lived in fear of a coming war, and here there was always a coming war.
They departed the Nightingale Dream when it made port at a large coastal town called Kyros. The stout stone walls were heavily manned by Myrish crossbowmen. Above the ramparts flew the red banners of Myr and a banner that showed a crossed sword and lightning bolt. Some newly made free company, Arianne thought as she and her companions made their way to one of Kyros' four inns. Once safely ensconced within the Iron Lilly, Arianne sent one of her men to each of the other three to hear what they might hear. Such places were always rife with rumours.
Hours later her men returned and spoke of what they'd heard. Most of the rumours concerned the growing tensions between Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr. Many more were about the Golden Company and how it had yet to take a contract in the rising conflict between Lys and Tyrosh, despite generous offers from both cities. Worries were whispered that the Golden Company meant to take one of the Free Cities for their own and establish a new kingdom. They wouldn't have been the first free company to try. Some concerned the conflict in Slaver's Bay. Rumours alternately claimed that Daenerys Targaryen's army had been shattered and that she had been sold into slavery. Others rumours claimed that the dragon queen had burned her enemies alive and had littered the Ghiscari cities with their bones. It was said that the Company of the Cat and the Long Lances had taken a contract with Meereen or Yunkai and had taken ship to Slaver's Bay. There were rumours from the west as well, though they were of less interest to Arianne, for her father now kept her well aware of what his spies heard in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Still, it was amusing to hear the locals speak of Stannis like he was Aegon the Conqueror come again. We will see, she thought, we will see. With a sigh, she pulled her blanket tighter and went to sleep.
They bought horses the next day, paying the hostler eight times their worth in gold, silver, and quiet threats from Ser Daemon and Ser Andrey. They left Kyros as the first rays of sunlight broke through the spires and roofs of the town. They made haste from the town, rising hard through the hot plains of the Disputed Lands. All the while seeing the results that nearly three centuries of constant war had had on the land and the people. Farms laid abandoned and villages emptied themselves long before they passed through them. In Dorne, the villagers would have come out to greet them or to sell food and wine. In Dorne, a party mounted on horses would almost always have coins to spare, but here a mounted party would only bring death.
By midday, a light rain had begun to fall. As yet, they had seen no signs of the continual fighting that plagued the Disputed Lands but the signs were there, burned houses and the corpses of animals and people. They moved southeast into the interior of the peninsula, to where lands only nominally served Myr, Lys, or Tyrosh at the best of times. They were entering the domain of sellswords, free companies, and bandit lords. The scouts of the Golden Company found them an hour before sunset and led them to their destination. The Golden Company was waiting for them.
Their camp was one of order and discipline, organized into row after row of neat tents separated by wide and clean earth tracks. Every soldier they saw was working. Every man seemed to have some assigned task, be it cleaning the already clean camp, sharpening weapons, repairing armour, or training with their comrades. A few soldiers paused in their tasks to watch Arianne and her company as they passed through the camp, but they quickly returned to work. From deeper in the camp, Arianne heard the sharp crack of hand-dragons. They're a brotherhood of exiles and the sons of exiles, united by the dream of Bittersteel. It's a home they want, as much as gold, Arianne reflected as she entered the heart of the camp. A courtyard of clear ground surrounded the great cloth-of-gold tent of the captain-general. Gilded skulls mounted on poles made a ring around the tent.
She entered the tent accompanied by Tyene and Ser Daemon and was confronted by a sea of colourful figures. The high officers wore their wealth on their person. They displayed a kind of crude splendor. Their bounty included jewelled swords, inlaid armor, heavy torcs, and fine silks. On the arms of nearly every officer was a lord's ransom in golden arm rings, each signifying one year's service with the Golden Company. Every man except for three.
The first was an older man, likely past forty, with a lined clean-shaven, and leathery face. The corners of his pale blue eyes were marked by crow's feet. His hair was grey but retained a tint of red, especially in his eyebrows. The second man was handsome and young, several years younger than Arianne if she guessed true. He had a lanky figure, like that of someone who had yet to meet their full growth. His hair was dyed blue and he appeared to have dark blue eyes. But when the light shifted they seemed purple instead. He stood as Arianne and her companions entered the cloth-of-gold tent, watching them curiously. Arianne knew immediately that this was Aegon and that the older man was Jon Connington. In her excitement, she almost missed the presence of the third man. He was small and short and slight, with sharp features. His dark hair was run through with grey and a small pointed beard marked his sharp chin. He wore a doublet of plum silk with puffed sleeves. His black cloak was lined with fox fur and was pinned at his breast with a silver mockingbird. He was smiling when Arianne met his grey-blue eyes.