Mathis

The branches swayed gently in the breeze and their shadows played over Mathis. He lay on his back watching the sun move slowly across the sky. Watching the shadows shift as the day passed. The days are getting shorter, he thought, winter is coming. He turned his head slightly to see Ser Raymond Redding, Ser Walder Yelshire, and Lord Torwood Middlebury arguing again. For weeks now they had hidden southern edges of the Kingswood, in the foothills that marked the borderlands between the Reach, the Crownlands, and the Stormlands. A territory that had been fought over for centuries between House Gardener, House Durrandon, and at their height House Hoare as well, before the borders were fixed in place by Aegon the Conqueror.

Ser Walder screamed something at the other two men before stalking over to Mathis. "Get up we need to have another meeting."

Mathis grunted as he sat up, pressure pushing on his still wounded leg. "I'm sure it will be a rousing discussion. Just like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that."

"If you have a better idea than talking I'm all ears."

"Ideas are fickle things and I find that being kidnapped and dragged across half the Reach tends to blunt them somewhat."

Ser Walder spat and stormed off. With another grunt of pain, Mathis brought himself to his feet, cane in hand he limped after the other would-be commanders of the would-be army.

Twenty thousand men had fled from Bitterbridge, for the second time for Mathis and many others. Ser Raymond and Ser Walder had led them due east following the course of the Blueburn. Their direction had not been chosen by military need or political strategy but by the base instinct of animals fleeing a predator. They moved hard and fast, those who fell behind were left behind and Mathis doubted that Stannis showed them much mercy. They had been pursued by a host of Stannis' horse, mostly their fellow Reachmen, commanded by Lord Elwood Meadows. Though too few in number to threaten the main part of the fleeing Reachmen. Their numbers were more than enough to harass and to cut down any man that fell behind. Four days of forced marching had brought them to a ford over the Blueburn ten miles west of Grassy Vale. It was there that a brief battle had been fought against the enemy. Lord Elwood had fallen upon their rear during the crossing and savaged it. They had lost a few hundred dead, injured, and captive, but were able to retreat in good order.

After the battle, Ser Raymond had led them south to avoid the lands of House Meadows and their castle, Grassy Vale. Though, Ser Walder Yelshire had insisted on leading a small force to wreak havoc upon House Meadow's lands. After that, they had continued east into the hills where the Red Mountains met the southern reaches Kingswood. Safe, for a time at least, they'd set about to arguing over their next move. That's where they'd been stuck for weeks now.

Things were quickly made even more difficult for them when the rumours inevitably spread. Even in their remote location came traders, bandits, and deserters found them easily and told their stories. They said that Joffrey was dead or that he'd turned the tide and killed Stannis. A few fools had claimed that Stannis had adopted Joffrey as his heir and the war was over. Some whispered that Stannis had decided to burn all the Reach for his fire god. Others believed that the Ironmen had sacked Casterly Rock or had joined forces with Stannis or Joffrey. They spread quickly and the mood of the army became consistently worse. Mathis knew that most of the rumours were wrong but he couldn't say for sure which were false. The men believed them and in the end that was all that mattered. And as the endless meetings continued to prove fruitless the men began to desert. As yet their numbers were still small, a dozen or so every night, but Mathis knew that the trickle would soon become a flood if a decision couldn't be made.

Mathis arrived last of all the commanders. Their council was two smaller this day. Ser Gavin Oldflowers and Lord Uffering hadn't bothered to come. Mathis snorted, at the last meeting they had mentioned joining with Stannis, but it seemed that they'd been the only ones to not have heard the rumour that Stannis' had executed all of his prisoners from Bitterbridge at King's Landing. A rumour that had come from a dead raven's letter and so carried more weight than the others. Both men had been all but laughed from the tent. Not that there are many more options for us, Mathis thought as he took his seat. Joffrey is simply not an option of course, and the Tyrells would have no fondness for those who had joined Lord Mace's killer. Come to think of it Mathis hadn't seen Ser Gavin in days. Probably fled.

"My lords," Ser Raymond said. "We all know why this council has been called. We must come to a decision else this army will melt."

"It's already melting," Ser Walder groused.

Lord Torwood ignored the knight and fingered his beard. "Neither Joffrey or Stannis will welcome us and the Tyrells have no future with either king." He shook his head. "At this point, I think our only choice is to cross the Narrow Sea."

"And accept defeat?" Lord Uffering puffed.

"Accept the reality that we have nothing left in the Seven Kingdoms to fight for, beyond vague ideas of honour or righteousness. Better men than us could perhaps inspire an army to fight for such. But we are not those men. Essos is where we must go the Golden Company has long been a home for exiles such as us."

"Not a home," Mathis said. "More like a great lake that gathers every stream of exiles that crosses the Narrow Sea. To join the Golden Company is to give up all hope of return."

"Then please Lord Mathis what do you suggest?" Lord Bart Risley asked.

"Mayhaps we should crown a new King of the Reach?" Ser Raymond Redding japed before Mathis could respond. For a moment everyone present was silent as they thought. "Oh come now I wasn't serious."

Lord Torwood Middlebury sighed behind his great white beard. "Serious or not it is an idea that must be considered."

"W-who would be king?" Stuttered Ser Bart Risley.

Lord Torwood fixed a keen eye on Mathis. "Lord Mathis, House Rowan is descended from Garth Greenhand is it not."

That peaked the interest of all present, even Ser Walder Yelshire deigned to take his boots off a camp stool and give his full attention to the meeting.

"Garth Greenhand is my ancestor," Mathis said quietly. "As are the Gardener kings, though their blood runs thin in my veins. Further, for nearly two hundred and fifty years House Rowan has held the title Marshall of the Northmarch." He paused, and for a moment he was almost tempted to accept their offer, to crown himself and to be a king. I reached too far too fast. In my hubris, I thought to make myself goodfather, Hand, and regent to a king. And for that the Seven punished me. He shook his head and looked up at the petty lords and knights. "I have no interest in being your king. I'm a man of tradition and no Rowan has ever been a king. I'd hate to destroy my family legacy by being the first, and likely the last, to be crowned." A chorus of groans and sighs came from the knights and petty lords.

"It's likely to be destroyed anyway if Stannis has his way!" Ser Walder Yelshire snarled before standing and stomping away from the table.

Mathis and the others followed a few seconds later, though with less ill grace. Their meeting today had been as productive as every other thus far, not at all. Not that Mathis cared very much. Of late Mathis rarely cared about anything at all. Mathis returned to his part of the camp and fell asleep to the sound of rain, with an empty bottle of wine by his side.

That night almost fifty men left the camp. The night after, it was thirty and a hundred more deserted on the third night. After that men didn't wait for night to fall before deserting. The camp grew smaller every day. Men slinked home like beaten dogs with their tails between their legs. They hoped only that they would be left alone. That the fury of Stannis or Joffrey or the Ironmen would pass them by. At the end of the week, the army had shrunk by a quarter. Ser Walder Yelshire tried to stem the desertion at first, but he himself deserted on the fifth day. Mathis stayed only because he couldn't bear to return to Goldengrove. To see the tears in Bethany's eyes, to hear the silence in the halls instead of Elinor's laughter.

A week past him by without another meeting and Mathis was still lying beneath the warm sun. Autumn had arrived, but winter was not yet here, insects and birds still chirped and sang beneath the noonday sun. Idly, he pulled a blade of grass from the ground and wound it around and between his fingers and knuckles.

"My lord," a smooth voice said.

Mathis turned his head to see a cloaked figure silhouetted by the sun. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"You don't recognize me? Oh, my lord, you wound me," the man pulled back his hood and kneeled next to him.

Varys, Mathis recognized the Spider now, though he wore riding leathers rather than silk robes and stank of sweat instead of perfume.

"Did Joffrey send you or Cersei? Are you an assassin as well as a spymaster? I'm surprised you have the balls to kill with your own hands."

"I'm not here to kill you, my lord," the eunuch said smoothly.

"Hmph. Then I'll repeat myself. Why are you here? To bring me back into Joffrey's fold? That ship has long since sailed beyond the horizon."

"I am not here at the bidding of Joffrey or Cersei, but for another king.

"Not Stannis?" Mathis asked incredulously.

Varys the Spider smirked. "No, not for Stannis. I fear he wants my head only slightly less than he wants yours."

"There aren't any other kings then unless your loyalties lie with the Starks or worse the Greyjoys. I always figured you to have more sense than to hitch yourself to a mad horse."

Varys crossed his legs and sat down beside Mathis. He shook his head. "How quickly the lords of the Seven Kingdoms forget. Who brought me to King's Landing from across the Narrow Sea?" He asked. Varys drew something from his bag and pressed it into Mathis' hand. "Who did I serve loyally until the very end?"

Slowly, Mathis looked down to what Varys had pressed into his hand. He looked up at the Spider. "I'm listening."

Varys sang a sweet song of heroics and dashing deeds, a hidden prince, an exiled lord, and the return of the rightful king. Maybe he's lying, Mathis thought, maybe this is all a trap… Mathis clenched his fist, breaking the strands of glass wound between his fingers. Maybe it doesn't matter.

The next morning the better part of fifteen thousand men marched east beneath the red and black banners of House Targaryen's three-headed dragon.

Daenerys

Astapor was burning. Smoke billowed up and up into the blue sky from behind the red brick walls in endless columns. Daenerys' vanguard arrived before the red brick walls at noon, her rearguard did not arrive until evening. Even her mere presence sent new pillars of smoke rising from the city. That night her people didn't need the light of the full moon to see. The fires of Astapor gave plenty of light. When the morning sun broke horizon Dany was woken by Irri's hand on her shoulder. "Jorah the Andal is here," she said.

"Dress me then bring him to me." Dressed and cleaned she met with her bear.

"Emissaries from the factions within Astapor, khaleesi," her knight said as he bowed. Dany nodded and Ser Jorah continued. "They came with the dawn. Some through the gates, others climbed over the walls. They started fighting each other outside the camp were it not for the Unsullied intervening they would have killed each other."

Dany's frown deepened. "Where are they now?"

"In separate tents and under guard."

"Did any profess loyalty to the council I installed?"

"No khaleesi, though many professed their loyalty to you."

Dany stood and turned away from Ser Jorah. She walked the length of her pavilion to the open panel that gave her a view of Astapor and the smoke rising steadily from the city. "Keep them under guard. Interrogate them, learn everything about the faction that you can."

Ser Jorah bowed. "Yes khaleesi," he turned but only made it halfway to the exit before he turned back to face her. "Khaleesi… what methods would you permit?"

Dany turned away from her knight to look upon the smouldering ruins of Astapor. "Whatever methods are necessary."

The interrogations, the tortures, lasted most of the day. Most of the emissaries were only too willing to speak at length about the strengths and weaknesses of the other factions or even of their own if they thought that it would please Daenerys. It did not. Their petty squabbles had left Astapor more a ruin than it was before. Thousands were dead, slavery was reinstated, and the children of the Good Masters were being used to raise a new generation of Unsullied. There were a dozen or more factions fighting for power in the city. Gangs of freed slaves savagely ruled tenements and city blocks, while Cleon the Butcher King's men reigned over most of the city. there were even a few Good Masters who had escaped Dany's purge and remained hold up inside their pyramids. The streets of Astapor ran red with blood and anarchy. And all of that was from before news of Dany's return had spread through the city. The freed slaves had risen in revolt against Cleon, though many seemed to want to only replace Cleon and his clique with themselves. Cleon's forces themselves had fallen into civil war as a tanner named Dhary tried to usurp his former overlord. Every would-be ruler felt the best way to secure themselves was to convince Daenerys to join them.

"I cannot make peace with these men," Dany said to her council. "They're fools, murderous, bloodthirsty, fools, almost as bad as the men I overthrew."

"Then there is only one choice," Ser Jorah said. "The Meereenese and Yunkai'i march behind us. We cannot allow ourselves to be trapped between their army and the walls."

"Astapor must fall," Arstan said provoking a distasteful look from Ser Jorah.

"A keen observation," her bear said with more than a hint of venom in his voice.

Dany ignored this and instead called the commander of her Unsullied forward. "Grey Worm, what do you think? Can the Unsullied take Astapor?"

Grey Worm stepped forward and spoke without hesitation. "The walls are not so strong as Yunkai's, the defenders are not so strong as the Yunkai'i, or as united, and the Unsullied know Astapor. Its walls and its streets." He tapped his spear on the ground twice. "Astapor will fall."

"I agree, Ser Jorah said. "Astapor is not Yunkai and Cleon is not the Wise Masters and their allies."

"Then go," Dany said. "Prepare my forces to attack tomorrow." All of her council rose to leave but Dany raised a hand. "Arstan, please stay."

Arstan bowed. "As you wish, Your Grace."

When all had left Dany spoke to the old man. "This my legacy," she said looking out to the smoke rising into the sunset. "Fire and blood," she all but spat.

"No Your Grace," the old man said as he came to her side. "Cleon and the rest did this to Astapor, not you."

"If it weren't for me Cleon would still be a butcher, not a despot."

"If it weren't for you, tens of thousands would still be enslaved and thousands more would suffer and die every year under the Good Masters."

Dany stood silently, watching the smoke rise. "You said… You said that you fought in the War of the Usurper?"

"I did Your Grace."

"Alongside my father and brother?"

"King Aerys did not take the field. But yes I fought under Prince Rhaegar's command at the Trident."

Dany blinked away the shadow of tears. "Viserys told me that Rhaegar died bravely, but Viserys told me many things I now know to be false."

"Prince Rhaegar died with honour, Your Grace. In single combat with Robert Baratheon."

"Died with honour..." she said wistfully. "Were you in the Seven Kingdoms when the Usurper died? Do you know how he died?"

"I was Your Grace and yes I know how. It was a boar that felled him, a great beast that ripped Robert's belly open."

"He killed my brother but was slain by a boar," Dany shook her head. "Tales of the Usurper's prowess at arms must have been exaggerated by time and distance."

"By time and drink more like," Arstan said. "Fifteen years ago, in his prime, he was as great as the tales said. He could easily best half all but two of his Kingsguard."

Dany pursed her lips. "I hadn't heard that."

"It is not a well known a tale. Jon Arryn, Robert's Hand, convinced Robert not to boast of it lest he embarrassed the kingsguard. Though the Kingslayer did so with his mere presence," Arstan finished darkly, true anger in his voice.

Dany turned sharply. "How do you know that?"

"The Kingslayer-"

"Not him." Dany interrupted. "How do you know the mind of the Usurper's Hand?" How many times was I warned of the Usurper's knives at my back? Now I fear one is within reach of my throat.

Arstan fell to his knee. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Forgive an old knight for his falsehoods."

"You claimed you were a squire."

"I was, Your Grace." He dropped his staff and let both knees and hands fall to the floor. "I squired for Lord Swann in my youth, and at Magister Illyrio's behest, I have served Strong Belwas as well. But during the years between, I was a knight in Westeros. I have told you no lies, my queen. Yet I did not speak the truth either, I wove falsehoods and there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness."

"What truths have you withheld?" Dany did not like this. "You will tell me. Now."

He bowed his head. "At Qarth, when you asked my name, I said I was called Arstan. That much was true. Many men had called me by that name while Belwas and I were making our way east to find you. But it is not my true name."

Dany shook her head, confused and angry. He deceived me for months. "Who are you?"

"My mother named me for my grandfather. My name is Barristan Selmy, Your Grace."

For a long moment, the only sound around them was the rustling tents in the wind. "Why are you here?" She asked. "You served the Usurper for years, decades, why are you here?"

"To serve, if you will have me." Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. "I took Robert's pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King's Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside. It shames me to admit, but when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders and sent men to kill me that same day, it was as though he'd ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service… Her service Your Grace."

Dany stood silently for a single, long minute. Arstan, Ser Barristan, knelt before her just as silently. The breeze played with his long white hair.

"Leave me," she said at last. "Leave me and find armour and weapons befitting a knight. When the morrow comes you will be the first over the walls of Astapor. You will lead the Unsullied in taking the city or die in the attempt. Should you survive then I will decide your fate."

Ser Barristan rose swiftly and bowed. "As Your Grace commands," he left just as swiftly.

Dany didn't turn to watch him leave. She stayed awake late into the night. She stood and stared at the fire and ruins of Astapor.

It seemed that Cleon was not entirely a fool. As the sun rose to banish the night, it revealed that the walls of Astapor were now manned with bands of Cleon's militias. The Unsullied had gathered five hundred yards away from the crumbling brick walls. The first ranks were armed with ladders and mantlets saved from the assault on Yunkai. Their lines were spread thin, to let them attack as great a length of the walls as possible. In addition, there were five columns each one aimed at one of the weakest points of the walls. Two more columns were kept in reserve should the worst happen. Behind the Unsullied were thousands of freedmen volunteers, all eager to take back their city. Ser Barristan had taken a place in the front line of one of the columns. A horn blew, and the Unsullied began their silent advance.

The reign of Cleon the Great ended as it had begun, in an orgy of bloody violence. The Unsullied swept the militias from the walls in barely more than half an hour. The columns smashed through the holes, gaps, and gates of the crumbling walls and the Unsullied were once again unleashed upon the streets of Astapor. Many of the defenders fled from the fighting when the walls fell, but some of Cleon's or Dhary's loyalists or the more vicious gangs knew that there would be no quarter given. So they resisted and where they fought the fighting turned into a street to street, house to house, and room to room, battle of stamina and discipline. Two things that the Unsullied had in abundance. The enemy broke even faster than they had on the city walls. Dhary was killed in the battle by Ser Barristan as the would be king and his rebels tried to make a stand in the Plaza of Pride, but were instead cut down by the old knight and a company of Unsullied.

At the orders of Grey Worm and Ser Jorah the Unsullied moved through the city streets in a broad arc. Funneling the fleeing enemies away from the tenements and the pyramids, which could too easily be turned into fortresses, and toward the Plaza of Punishment. Once the bulk of the enemy were forced into the plaza freedmen came forward with carts and wagons to form makeshift barricades to keep the prisoners inside their open air jail. Despite the efforts of the Unsullied they couldn't contain all of Dany's enemies. Cleon and his most loyal followers fled to the safety of the Pyramids and and fortified themselves within. Grey Worm and Ser Jorah opted to leave them within their tall prisons.

Dany entered the city with the sunset, surrounded by a hundred Unsullied and Strong Belwas. Drogon and Rhaegal flew above her, while Viserion walked on the ground behind her. The Unsullied had cleared the streets of the dead and dying for her, forming a path that led Daenerys to the Temple of the Graces. The streets were free of bodies but the signs of battle still remained. Blood pooled inches deep in the streets, bits of mangled flesh still occupied the gutters, and clouds of glistening green flies flew in buzzing swarms. Rising into the air as the passage of Dany and her guard disturbed them, only to fall back to their feast seconds later.

Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, the Green Grace, and a bloodied and injured Ser Barristan were waiting for her at the Temple of the Graces. Rhaegal and Drogon flew higher and higher, circling the top of the temple, chasing each other. Viserion curled into a ball and snorted smoke at Ser Jorah.

The Green Grace, a grey-haired woman somewhere between fifty and sixty, raised her arms as Dany dismounted her silver and cried out. "Hail the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons! Astapor welcomes you."

"And what a welcome it was," Daenerys said evenly. "Spears and slings on the walls, thousands dead, and Cleon still defiant. It was you who crowned Cleon did you not."

To her credit, the Green Grace did not blink or waver. "I made a choice great Queen. I chose to crown Cleon because I thought it might bring peace to my city and its children safe. I was wrong and now I welcome you for the same reasons. I pray I am not wrong again." The Green Grace slipped forward. "Your Grace, the people of Astapor are yours now and forever, twice now you have delivered them from tyranny and death." She reached into her stole and produced a circlet of woven gold and silver. "The crown is yours as it should have always been."

Dany inhaled slowly, trying to calm the thoughts that buzzed through her head like a thousand flies. "Such an offer cannot be accepted lightly."

The Green Grace frowned for a single moment before bowing her head. "Of course. If I may, the Temple of the Graces is open to you and your court. Until such a time as you choose your own residence."

"Thank you," Dany bowed her head before she turned to look at Ser Barristan. With his beard shaved the knight looked a decade younger. Ser Jorah was glaring daggers at him and Grey Worm had placed himself between the two knights. "All you come with me," she said to her three commanders and her guards. Dany walked forward into the Temple of the Graces.

The white graces led them to a chamber high above the rest of the city. From there the devastation seemed even worse. Dany could see that entire city blocks had been laid to ruin. She turned to Barristan. "I heard you killed Dhary," she said.

"I did Your Grace," the snowy-haired knight bowed his head.

"I take it you know who he is?" Dany asked Ser Jorah.

"Barristan Selmy," her bear growled in reply. "A traitor."

"If taking Robert's pardon makes me a traitor than you are one twice over. You rose against Aerys for Robert and then broke the laws of the realm and fled your rightful punishment."

Ser Jorah bristled and made a move for his sword, but was stopped by Grey Worm. Ser Barristan hadn't moved a muscle but it was painfully clear he was tensed for action.

Ser Jorah pulled his hand away from his sword with another growl and turned to beseech Dany. "Khaleesi, he cannot be trusted. He served on Robert's council for years he knows Stannis and Joffrey and all the other rebels they must have sent him to spy on you."

"Aye," Ser Barristan agreed surprisingly, though his voice was choked with anger. "I served Robert for years alongside Stannis, Renly, Baelish, Pycelle, and Varys the Spider. And for years, I listened to reports from the Spider's little birds across the Narrow Sea."

Ser Jorah went for his sword again. Ser Barristan reacted this time, drawing his sword and entering a guard before Ser Jorah's sword was even half drawn. Grey Worm and the Unsullied raised their spears and locked their shields. Strong Belwas hefted his arakh and moved to stand beside Ser Barristan.

"Stop!" Dany commanded. "All of you put down your blades." Ser Barristan and the Unsullied obeyed immediately, Strong Belwas and Ser Jorah hesitated before obeying. "Ser Barristan, what are you implying?"

"Khaleesi," her bear spoke again. "He cannot-"

"Be silent," Dany commanded again. "Let him speak."

After a moment Ser Barristan spoke. "For many years Varys received reports from across the Narrow Sea. Whilst I sat on the small council, I heard a hundred such reports. Many of them from exiles hoping to gain royal favour and be allowed to return. Every move Viserys made was reported to the Spider. In the last year of Robert's reign, one such exile joined your company the day you wed Khal Drogo. And every day since there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises."

No, he cannot mean… She shook her head in denial. "No, you're mistaken." Dany looked at her bear. "Tell him he's mistaken," she all but begged. "There's no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste..." Fear and betrayal fluttered like butterflies in her stomach. "Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong."

Ser Jorah slammed his sword back into its scabbard. "Others take you, Selmy. Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you... before I came to love-"

"No!" Dany shouted, rage trembling in her body. Viserion snarled and lashed his tail. "Don't say that word. You betrayed me, you betrayed my brother! What were you promised? Gold? Lands?" The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love.

"Home," Jorah said quietly.

Love then, she decided, love of home."I would have taken you home."

"Khaleesi-"

"No!" She shouted again. "You will not speak to me, neither of you." She trembled with rage. "I don't want to see you or hear you," go root Cleon and his rats from the pyramids. Ser Barristan bowed once and left.

Jorah opened his mouth to speak.

"Be silent!" What will I do with you my bear, my protector, my liar, and my spy. "How can I trust you?" She asked. "You want to go home so badly. How can I trust you not to sell me like you sold those poachers?" Ser Jorah said nothing and looked at his feet. "You will leave, Jorah." Saying so broke her heart but it would hurt even more to keep him at her side. I cannot trust him, not now and never again. "Leave now and never return. You are exiled once more. Take your belongings, your horse, and go. Go and die in whatever way seems best to you. Make sure he leaves," she said to the Unsullied. Four of the soldiers took him by the arms and dragged him away.

Grey Worm tapped his spear on the floor. "Your Grace, what of the prisoners?" He asked.

"Execute the leaders," she said. "But spare the common soldiers." She turned to face north, where the armies of Yunkai and Meereen were marching south. "We'll need them."

Sansa

A knock on her door drew Sansa's attention away from the sea.

"It's time," Myrielle said.

"Of course," Sansa stood to join Myrielle and Cerenna. Queen Cersei seemed determined to act as much as possible as if Casterly Rock was not under siege. Every week she invited, demanded, the huge number of Lannister cousins and goodfamily join her and feast as night fell.

A pair of red cloaked guards waited outside their rooms to escort them to Queen Cersei's dining chamber. On their trek through the tunnel like halls, they passed by a large open gallery that in more peaceful times would have provided a wondrous view of Lannisport and the Sunset Sea. But now, Lannisport was a ruin. The sea of Ironmen ships had unleashed a great tide of steel, fire, and screaming warriors upon the city. Fire and death had spread to every part of the great city. The gates had been beaten down from the inside by hordes of people fleeing the rapacious warriors of the Iron Islands. Thousands had fled the city, seeking safety within Casterly Rock, only to find that Queen Cersei had barred the gates and kept them barred even as thousands of people screamed outside them. Screamed as the Ironmen used them for target practice shooting them down by the hundred with volleys of arrows. Queen Cersei had deigned to let them waste their arrows rather than defend the hapless people of Lannisport.

Days had turned into weeks and the population of Lannisport remained trapped between the besieged and the invaders. In desperation, some tried to climb the gates and enter Casterly Rock. Volleys from red cloaked crossbowmen sent most of them running and the few who did finish the climb were thrown from the heights of the Lannister mountain.

The Ironmen had fortified themselves within the walls of Lannisport and from there laid waste to the West. Parties mounted on stolen horses left daily, bringing back loot and captives. Ships came and went from the harbour, always returning with the bounty of the West within their hulls.

Queen Cersei's dinner was held on an open balcony, overlooking the landward side of Casterly Rock. One of the gates of Lannisport could be seen at a distance. Several hundred Ironmen were leaving the city as she watched, they didn't even look at Casterly Rock. For all the weeks that the siege had lasted, the Ironmen had made no effort to storm the gates of the Lion's Mouth. It seemed that they were content to let the defenders wait inside.

Sansa and her goodsisters joined Cersei and a dozen more Lannister cousins, whose names Sansa did not care to learn, or if she had to remember them. Sansa and her goodsisters were the last to arrive, except... Where's Tommen? she thought. The plump prince was usually seated in a corner, playing with a kitten, or speaking politely with one of the guests. Tonight there was no sign of him. The prince had disappeared. Sansa turned her head slightly to look at the already drinking Queen Cersei. The Queen was leaning on the balustrade watching over the lands of the West. Just as the Ironmen had paid no mind the those imprisoned within Casterly Rock neither had the lords of the West. There been no signs of the western lords, not even so much as a scout.

They bled for Tywin and they bled even more for Joffrey, Sansa thought as she watched the Ironmen begin their raid. It seems that they have no desire to bleed for Cersei.

"Fools," Queen Cersei scoffed as the Ironmen raiders turned north. "After nearly a decade of summer, the stores of Casterly Rock are stuffed to bursting. We could remain under siege for years and never want for food. The only way to take Casterly Rock is by storm and it has never fallen and never will," she drank half of her goblet of wine in a single gulp and stumbled back to her seat at the table.

"Can't we send ravens to ask the lords come to our aid?" Myrielle asked quietly.

"Ask?" Cersei slurred. "The Lannisters of Casterly Rock do not ask. We command." She lifted her goblet, drained it of wine. "In any case, there are no more ravens," she said viciously. "They've all been sent and all have gone unanswered." Suddenly, Cersei rose unsteadily to her feet, prompting everyone else to do the same. "A toast. To the lords of the Westerlands."

"To the lords of the Westerlands," Sansa echoed along with the other guests.

"May those cravens burn in the Seven Hells," Cersei said before draining her goblet again and moving to take her seat at the table.

The dinner was one of awkward silence after that.

Hours later Sansa returned to her bed, her belly full and her body and mind tired by hours of Lannisters. She crawled beneath her blankets shivered, not from the cold, but from dread. Of late her dreams had been terrible things. Full of the dead and dying, twisted and dark creatures, and laughing crows. She shivered again, hugged her pillow, and let the nightmares begin.

Sansa woke to the sound of the door crashing open. Myrielle and Cerenna were screaming as Sansa rushed from her bed and opened the door. The red cloaks stationed outside their chambers were dead on the ground. One's chest had been caved in by a maul the other's head had been all but cut free from his neck. A trio of strange men were manhandling the Lannister women, dragging them from there rooms and into the hall. One, a great tall man from the Summer Islands, saw Sansa and rushed at her. Too late, Sansa tried to slam her door closed, but the attacker caught it on his massive arm and forced it open.

Sansa screamed and fell back, falling on the floor, and tears already springing from her eyes. She knew what was coming. She closed her eyes and cried, but the violation never came. She opened her eyes. The Summer Islander was standing still as if he was frozen. His eyes had rolled back into his head leaving only a pair of strange white orbs. After a moment his eyes rolled back to their proper places. Without a word the invader turned and slammed Sansa's door shut, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Sansa laid on the floor, crying and unable to sleep. She didn't dare to move for fear that whatever god had interceded on her behalf would change its mind. She waited there all night and most of the next day, ignoring hunger and thirst. When the door opened again and another man entered the room. She started to cry. He was tall and lean, with dark amber skin, and wiry dark hair. He said nothing but waved a hand, bidding her to follow him.

Sansa stood on unsteady legs, her belly pained with hunger, and followed the strange man.

He led her to the great hall, once the center of Lannister power, it was now the domain of the Ironmen. Hundreds crowded the benches laughing, drinking, feasting… and raping. A line of women were tied over barrels, benches, and chairs. A great crowd of warriors were waiting to take their turn. Cerenna and Myrielle were there. Sansa made herself look away. If she kept watching she'd pity them. I don't want to pity Lannisters, I want to hate them. She hardened her heart and kept walking through the center of the chaos. Her guide took her to the base of the high table.

A pale man, with black hair, and an eye patch over his left eye was seated in the high chair of the Lannister kings. He looked a little like Theon. Euron, King Euron. His summer sky blue eye was focused intently on her. Sansa curtsied. "Your Grace."

Euron laughed. "Come, Princess," he waved at the high table. "Come and join us."

It was only then that Sansa noticed the figures seated beside him. Plump Prince Tommen had tears streaming down his face, his golden curls were dark with mud, and blood was splattered down his front. Euron's hand was tight around the back of the prince's neck. On the other side was Queen Cersei. Sansa barely recognized the golden queen without her dresses and finery. She was tied naked to a high backed chair and was drenched in wine, ale, and other fluids. Though she seemed to be otherwise unharmed.

Sansa walked slowly around the table to join the king and the prince. A single empty seat remained between whimpering Prince Tommen and a huge man who seemed to not know how to smile at all. Sansa took her place with silent care. She flinched when the huge man reached to tear a leg of goose free from the rest of the carcass. A servant poured wine into Sansa's goblet. Her hands were shaking so much half the wine ended up on the table. Without a word, the huge man reached out and pulled the woman onto his lap and began to fondle her. Sansa said nothing, and did nothing, and drank her wine. She could feel the eyes of every man on her and felt Euron's eye worst of all. The King of the Iron Islands hadn't looked away from her even once since she'd sat down.

When at last Euron looked away it was to address his people. Euron rose and pushed plates aside and climbed upon the table. The Ironmen began to bang their cups and stamp their feet upon the floor. "EURON!" they shouted. "EURON! EURON! EURON KING!"

"I swore to give you Westeros," the Iron King said when the tumult died away. "This is your first taste. A morsel, nothing more... but we shall feast before the fall of night!" The torches along the walls were burning bright, and so was he, blue lips, blue eye, and all. "What the kraken grasps it does not lose. These lands are ours now and will be so forever... but we need strong men to hold them. So rise, Andrik the Unsmiling, Lord of Casterly Rock!" The huge man next to Sansa shoved away his women and lurched to his feet, like a mountain rising sudden from the sea. "Rise, Maron Volmark, Lord of Lannisport!" A beardless boy of six and ten was raised up on shoulders by the cheering crowd. "On the morrow, we prepare once more to fight," the king was saying. "Joffrey the Boy and his host marches to save his mother," Euron's hand whipped out and slapped Cersei. "We will meet him, crush him, and take all the Westerlands for ourselves. The wounded who are still hale enough to raise an axe or spear will march with us. The rest shall remain here, to help hold these lands for their new 'll fight and return with a king in chains!" The Ironmen cheered and stomped their feet. "While we talk about kings, who here thinks Joffrey's failures have cost him his right to kingship?" Euron called to the assembled Ironmen.

"AYE!" The warriors roared.

"And was it not good Prince Tommen who braved life and limb to show us the hidden tunnel into Casterly Rock?"

"AYE!"

"And do any among you think that Prince Tommen would serve as a better king of the Greenlands than Joffrey?"

"AYE!"

"Well then, mayhaps a kingsmoot should be held?"

"AYE!"

"NO!" Sansa heard Cersei screech from the far side of the king.

Euron looked at her and smiled. "Bring the septon this needs to be official." A beaten and bloody man was quickly dragged up to the high table. Euron dragged a golden arm ring from the arm of one of his warriors and pushed it into the speton's hands. He stood and pulled the septon close. "Now repeat after me," Euron whispered to him. "Who shall rule the Greenlands? Who shall be king over us?"

"Wh- Who shall r- rule the Greenlands? Who shall be ki- king over us?" The terrified septon stuttered.

Euron pushed the septon away and leaned down to whisper in Tommen's ear. "Say you will," Tommen shivered and flinched away from Euron. The King of the Iron Islands grabbed the prince harder. "Say it!"

"I will," Tommen cried. "I will."

"And what do you say!" Euron called to the Ironmen.

"TOMMEN! TOMMEN! TOMMEN KING!" The Ironmen cheered and laughed.

Euron pulled the septon back and forced the arm ring into his hands. "Crown your new king!"

"I- In the name of the Seven of the Father, Mother, and, and..." The septon's hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped the makeshift crown. "Hail King Tommen long may he reign," he finished lamely as he placed the crown on Tommen's head.

"HAIL TOMMEN KING!" The Ironmen warriors cheered.

Without a word, Euron smoothly drew his dagger and dragged it across Tommen's throat. Hot blood spurted from the prince's neck. Sansa felt blood splatter over her face. She flinched back falling out of her chair and trying not to be sick. "NO!" Cersei screamed. "NO!" Her screams turned to sobs.

"Killing kings is easier than I expected I wonder if his brother will prove as easy?" Euron japed as he wiped the blood from his dagger. Then tossed a cloth-of-gold cloak over Tommen and turned to face the weeping Cersei. He loomed over her and said. "Gold his crown and gold his shroud," Cersei screamed longer and louder. She screamed so loud and cried so long her voice died and she was left whimpering in the hall. As Euron's back was turned Sansa crawled back into her chair and forced herself to drink deeper of her goblet of wine, hoping that it would steady her nerves. When she finished Euron was seated again, he looked at Sansa, over Tommen's body, his blue eye twinkled with cruelty. Sansa shivered and turned away.

She dared not to look when a hand fell on her shoulder. The hand descended and took her by the arm. "Come," was all Euron said. Sansa didn't dare resist when he pulled her away from the great hall. Sansa followed Euron in terrified silence. He led her out of the hall and into the maze of tunnels and passages that took them up, higher and higher to the summit of Casterly Rock. Where the Stone Garden waited for them.

Dark clouds roiled above them but the western sky was still clear. The air was chilly, and the sun was touching the horizon far to the west. Euron walked deep to the heart of the Stone Garden. He dragged Sansa with him. When the heart tree came into sight he pushed Sansa into a corner of two boulders. Slowly, nervously, Sansa thought, he approached the weirwood tree and then stood quietly before it for several minutes. Slowly, Euron placed his hand on the heart tree. His entire body tensed as his eye rolled back into his head, leaving only a pale white orb. His muscles spasmed randomly as he stood before the heart tree. With a jerk, his entire body froze. A minute passed before Euron moved again. His lips peeled back in a twisted smile.

"Come now old man you can't hide from me, no more than I can from you," he jerked his head almost like he was listening to someone. "I'm mad? Hah! Which one of us is hiding in a frozen cave? Power, true power, was yours for the taking but you let some stupid boy steal it from you."

Sansa stood silently, trembling in fear, and horrified curiosity. He's mad, truly mad. I should run, run far and fast no matter what comes. Despite the thoughts racing through her brain it took all her will to take so a single step away from Euron.

The King of the Iron Islands raised his free hand. "Don't," he commanded without even looking at her. Sansa froze, unable to move even though every fibre of her being screamed at her to run. It was like some force had locked her in place.

Euron turned his attention back to the tree. "You see her? She's mine. You took the boy I'll take his sister? Do you think that whelp can come even halfway close to measuring next to me?" Euron's voice had risen to a fevered pitch. "He's nothing! Less than nothing! A candle compared to the sun! But I'll hurt him nonetheless. She's my weapon! You see it don't you? You little auburn bastard!"

Sansa could do naught but stare at the Crow's Eye as he cackled.

"What's this?" He asked. "You want to scare me? Scare me with frozen blue-eyed maggots hiding in rotten ice? I have seen all the horrors of this world. Bloodless cities, madness beneath the seas, darkness in the jungles, and you think to frighten me with cold dead things? Ha! A storm is coming old man. A storm to wipe away all of mankind and the only survivors will be those unafraid to rise above the shackles of their humanity." He smiled and Sansa saw the white bark around turn black and then burst into flames. Euron laughed as the flames spread across the tree, consuming it and turning white bark into charred black bones. He laughed as the flames licked his flesh and did him no harm. His eye had turned black. Sansa fell back in terror, her heart beating a thousand miles a second, as she watched the Ironman king battle the Old Gods and win. He's a sorcerer, a monster out of one of Old Nan's tales. Euron was still laughing as the flames suddenly died all at once. His laughter died as well and he gazed up at the tree and tried to pull his hand free. He failed. His hand was frozen to the tree.

Sansa saw something glint in the light of the setting sun. A layer of frost was spreading over the weirwood. It started where Euron's hand met the wood and was quickly spreading and thickening from there. With a strangled scream of pain, Euron finally pulled his hand free. He left a layer of skin and blood on the blacked wood, which rapidly froze solid. In seconds the weirwood had turned white again, covered by an inches thick layer of ice that covered every branch and twig. The roaring face was transformed into a cruel and malevolent visage by the ice.

Euron stumbled back holding his bloody left hand and watching the heart tree with a stunned face. A low groan began to emanate from beneath the ice. Sansa could feel it in her bones when the tree shattered. Charred wooden splinters and unmelting shards of ice were sent flying across the Stone Garden.

After a moment's pause, Euron began laughing again. Sansa pressed herself against a frost covered stone as far away from the shards and Euron as she could be. Her tears were frozen to her face.

Euron's laughter died and he turned to look at Sansa, madness, and cruelty glittered in his eye. "You're afraid," he said as he stalked closer to her. Sansa forced herself to her feet and fled but Euron caught her only a second later. He pulled her back, her feet slipped on shards of ice and she fell to her knees before him. "You're afraid aren't you? You're afraid of that whore Cersei, of that brat Joffrey, and of me." He smiled and chuckled. "Well, that last one is wise at least." Euron grabbed her head with a strong hand. "I can make that fear die. I can make you be feared." He hand was squeezing her head so tight she could move, the air was so cold it was stealing her breath away.

"Yes," she said through the pain, desperate to say anything that might make Euron stop.

"Then drink," he said, forcing a wineskin into her mouth. "Shade of the Evening will steal all your fears away."

Sansa drank. She spat out the first swallow of the queer, thick liquid. It tasted of rotten meat, ink, and everything foul. But as she swallowed that taste changed. Tendrils of warmth spread through her body like fingers of fire. The tastes changed to honey, lemons, cream, and everything nice. Everything she'd ever tasted and so much more. She drained the wineskin. Her head felt strange, her limbs tingled, she felt like she could fly away, and leave everything else behind. She dropped the wineskin and looked up into the sky. The setting sun had left the low, dark, clouds streaked with blood. A pinprick of cold and wet struck her cheeks, then her nose, and her forehead. It's snowing, she realised.

Sansa stumbled, her legs didn't want to hold her body up. As she fell Euron caught her, madness in his eye as he grabbed her head with both hands. Sansa looked up and stared into his eyes, one blue but turning black and the other… Sansa trembled and felt things slither and slide inside her skull. Euron pressed both his thumbnails into her forehead. He pressed so hard they drew blood that quickly froze to her skin. "Open your eye!" He pushed her and Sansa fell…

And fell…

And fell...

And kept falling until a gust of air and a sudden rush of instinct righted her. Black feathered wings pushed back against the chilly air. Her cousins cawed beside her and together they flew. She soared through the evening air wings beating in the sky. She followed her cousins and descended from the heights of Casterly Rock. A twist of feathers and she was flying over the ruin of Lannisport. She landed on the rocky beach, now dotted with patches of brilliant white snow. The tide had given the crows a gift. Hundreds of swollen corpses. As the snow fell she feasted before the fall of night.

The Soldier

They'd gone north, so far north that the air had begun to grow cold again. They'd seen wonders they'd never dreamt of. Islands that winter never touched where people had skin like coal and whose clothing was made from feathers of every colour imaginable. A city on an island where every house was a brothel filled with the most beautiful women imaginable. A fortress where every tower was carved like a great scaled beast from legends of old. A city built upon a thousand islands, with canals instead of streets, and was guarded by a giant bronze statue.

Captain Kubota had ordered them to sail farther north, to see yet another wonder. The locals claimed that there existed a wall of ice. A wall twice the height of the bronze statue. Captain Kubota never saw it. An ice cold wave had swept him off the deck a week north of the City of Canals. The storms had pushed them away from land and into the open ocean. Unable to control their course they had been pushed farther and farther north, into seas as cold as ice and twice as cruel. Seas that were not unlike those south of the home islands. Seas that every Beikango sailor knew to avoid at all costs.

Their voyage came to an abrupt end when the storms smashed them upon a rock hidden beneath the waves. As their vessel sank its crew had fought and killed for a place on a raft made from barrels, rope, and broken timbers. A dozen men huddled together were all that remained from a crew nearly one hundred strong. Waves and wind pushed them west. A day and a night passed them by in freezing terror and left only three of the dozen survivors when at last they reached the shore.

The beach was rocky and scarred by wind and water. Fifty yards from the water rose great evergreen trees, barely visible in the snow that fell without cease. Their needles covered in layers of frost and snow. Hokaro's teeth chattered as he ran from the water and into the woods. The bare shelter did almost nothing to blunt the fury of the winter wind. It's not enough, Hokaro thought. We'll freeze here.

"Over here!" Rumiko shouted through his chattering teeth, waving at Hokaro and Shojo.

Hokaro and Shojo followed the younger man to a tree whose branches grew so long that they brushed the ground. Together they pushed through the green needles of the trees to find that the branches had kept the space within relatively clear of snow and wind. Rumiko, a red-haired young man was barely more than a boy, was almost bouncing with joy. "A shelter," he said excitedly. The rear of the shelter went up directly to the trunk of the tree. It's front was open only where Rumiko had opened an inches thick plug-like door. It was covered by a steeply slanted roof made of logs and sod marred by a single small hole. The floor was of timber and was blanketed by dozens of thick furs. In the corner, beneath the hole was a small pile of dry firewood and a rock pit to house the flames. "Thank the spirits," the boy said.

"Move!" Hokaro pushed both men into the shelter and followed quickly. They quickly stripped off their frozen clothes. While Rumiko and Shojo dove into the comparatively warm pile of furs, Hokaro fumbled in the dark with his knife to shave off kindling and to strike flint against steel to light a fire. He cursed when the steel cut into his hand but in the same moment sparks flew and the first embers took light. He leaned forward and breathed slow steady breaths that spread the flames. The fire bloomed and soon a small crackling fire filled the stone hollow and warmed them. Without another thought, the three men fell asleep in a great heap.

When they woke the shelter was warm and only Hokaro's cajoling convinced the two to leave and join him , they wrapped themselves in furs and ventured out to search the wreckage along the beach for supplies, while Rumiko did what he could to make their shelter more comfortable. They were in luck, the tides had risen and fallen in the night to leave what seemed to be half the ship on the shore. They spent an hour digging with frozen hands for supplies before fleeing back to the warmth of the shelter.

Their haul was two ships axes, a spear, a load of waterlogged wood that they hoped could be dried for fires, a juki to go with the soaked powder horn Hokaro carried, and the clothes of six of their crewmates. With their new tools, they cut branches and gathered needles and twigs. With the wind howling outside their shelter Hokaro taught his crewmates how to make a feeble fire out of the cold wood. He had learned the skill in the Altan Mountains, where he had fought the Bellohanese for control of the passes. They used the fire to dry their clothes, to turn snow into water, and heat what little food they gathered from the forest and the wreckage.

They stayed in the shelter for three days, scavenging the surrounding forest and the beach. Three days passed before Hokaro said. "We have to leave."

"Why?" Rumiko asked around a small mouthful of paste made from berries, bark, and a squirrel.

"There's not enough food here and the weather will only get worse."

"I thought I saw fires last night. Down in the hills southwest of us."

Hokaro sighed. "South is where we want to go anyway. Maybe these people can help us." Or maybe they'll kill us.

They wrapped their blue and red cloaks of the Satsugawa Clan around them and started walking south. They dragged their supplies behind them on a makeshift sledge. The land was rough and wild, barely touched by human hands, but there were signs of life. On the second day, they came across a pit trap that some kind of huge deer had fallen prey to. That night they feasted on half cooked steaks and felt a little warmer. Though, they barely slept that night because of the cold and the distant howl of wolves.

A day further south and they arrived at the source of the fires Shojo had seen in the night. It was a village huddled in the valley of two large hills. It was surrounded by a low ditch and a packed earth wall. Within was a clutch of huts made from equal parts hide, wood, and what looked like elephant bones. Despite the fires only two days ago the village seemed abandoned now. They spread out searching the little village. Rumiko entered one of the huts, Shojo swaggered through the village. Both men seemed utterly at ease. But Hokaro's guts were in knots, he gripped in juki with both hands and ground his teeth. There's something wrong here. Something very wrong.

"It's all here," Rumiko said as he barreled out of one house. "Food! Furs! Everything!"

Shojo smiled and joined the boy in looting the village.

"It's all here..." Hokaro mused, worry and fear in the back of his mind. "Why's it all here?" He asked more to himself than his companions.

"What?" Rumiko asked, his mouth stuffed with some kind of cheese.

"They left everything. All their tools, all their food, their clothes, but they're gone and their animals are gone," he kicked the fence of an animal pen.

"A raid perhaps," Shojo suggested. "They're obviously savages."

"No," Hokaro said. "There are no signs of fighting, and savages or not they would have taken nearly everything of use. It's like they all just disappeared."

"Like something out of an old story," Rumiko shivered. "Waveriders."

"Don't be stupid," Shojo spat. "Waveriders are just an old story for old women."

Hokaro said nothing but he wasn't so sure. This is wrong, this is very wrong.

The wind rose suddenly. From a whisper to a howl, flecks of snow filled the air, stabbing like needles into their exposed skin.

"Let's get inside before we freeze."

The house was well stocked with firewood, for the first time in days they were truly warm. They slept together in the bed of furs that rested next to the fire.

Hokaro woke with a start. He wasn't sure why but his heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. The wind's died, he noted as he rose to shift the coals and add more wood to the embers. Something clattered outside, this time it woke Shojo and Rumiko as well.

"What's going on?" The boy asked.

Hokaro grabbed his juki, double checked that the lock was clear, and then through his stolen fur cloak around his shoulders. "Let's find out." He opened the door. The air was cold, colder than Hokaro had ever imagined it could be. The sky was clear and the stars were out, a crescent moon hung low in the sky. Someone else was in the village. A man stood in the moonlight, his fur clothing was tattered and stained black with dried blood. Rumiko and Shojo joined him outside the the house each armed with an axe. The man rushed at them.

Hokaro raised his juki and shot the man in the chest. The impact knocked his foe down but even as Hokaro drew his own axe to finish his foe his heart stopped. The man wasn't dead. Instead, his foe pulled himself off the ground and started charged again. For a brief moment, the pale moonlight shone through the gaping hole in the man's chest. Shojo and Rumiko fled but Hokaro was made of stronger steel. He was a soldier, a veteran of the Emperor's Great War. He had fought in a hundred battles against the fanatical hordes and resolute mameluks of Bellohan. He'd never run and he would not run now.

The dead man lunged at Hokaro, black hands reaching for his throat. He fell backward too shocked to truly dodge the savage attack. He stumbled over the frozen ground and turned just in time to catch the black hands on his barrel of his juki. The dead weight forced Hokaro back. His back slammed into the wall and his arms burned as Hokaro struggled to stop the dead man from slamming the barrel into his throat. They were so close that had his foe been alive Hokaro would have felt his breath. Instead, he stared into brilliant blue eyes. Gazed at skin stretched tight over what remained of flesh. Saw the bones that pushed through where skin and flesh had been worn away. Hands, black and swollen with blood and colder than winter's heart, pushed with monstrous strength. Hokaro's arms were trembling as he pushed against the dead man. With a single heave of all his strength, he pushed and twisted. The bronze but of the juki struck the wooden wall with a thump as all of the dead man's strength propelled him in the wrong direction. It tripped and Hokaro followed up with a solid kick to the head. A living man would have been stunned, but a dead man was only knocked back. Nonetheless, Hokaro used took the opportunity to retreat.

The cold air burned his lungs as he ran into the night. "Shojo! Rumiko!" He shouted, not caring that the monster might hear him. "Where are you!" They didn't answer. Hokaro ran harder and faster. His legs and lungs burned, his skin was so cold it felt nothing. Eventually, exhaustion forced him to stop and hide. He took shelter inside of a hollow tree. Safe, for a moment, he reloaded his juki. Then, armed and ready he crept out of the meagre shelter.

Rumiko and Shojo were waiting outside. Rumiko was missing an arm and a great mass of frozen blood spread across Shojo's body, starting from his cut throat. Their green and brown eyes were now a frozen blue, like the deepest coldest seas. In the shadows of the trees beyond his dead crewmates, Hokaro saw another figure. It was a man with a straight sword not unlike what he'd seen men use in the south, but thinner and longer. Too thin, he thought, dread rising in his soul. The edges seemed too sharp and the blade reflected light strangely. Like ice instead of steel. The cold swelled as the figure stepped from the shadows. It was tall and thin, its skin was whiter than the snow. It's blue eyes burned like the frozen lightning. It's armour shifted colour as it moved, reflecting the trees, snow, and shadow that surrounded them. The dead turned aside leaving the path between Hokaro and the demon open.

The demon advanced slowly, mockingly, sword at its side in a low guard. Hokaro stood his ground, turning half a step to the side and raising the juki in perfect form. From three feet away Hokara fired at the demon's chest. The lead ball shattered into ten thousand frozen shards before it ever touched the armour, disappearing like a cloud of frozen dust. A sound as sharp as icicles came from the demon's mouth. Laughter, Hokaro realised. A single swipe of the sword and his juki lay in a dozen frozen pieces of its own. For the first time in his life, Hokaro felt true terror. He was frozen in place as the crystal sword pierced his heart.