Geralt was on his seventh day of recovery from the potions when the great lords arrived at Harrenhal. To the immediate right and left of the gateway, soldiers mounted and on foot stood ready. The household servants and dislocated residents of Harrentown formed the majority of this welcoming gathering in a semi-circle. The Whents stood at the forefront, Lord Walter in the center with his family lined up to his right, from Lady Shella to their youngest child. The Hanse, or The Harrenhal Five as many came to call them of late, stood lined up from his left side. The only noteworthy absence was Howland. He toiled away at a tricky, important task elsewhere.
Geralt watched the stream of armored, mounted men flow into the castle through the cavernous depths of Harrenhal's gateway. By his quick estimate, each of the four great lords had brought two dozen or so bannermen, knights, or some other type of sworn sword. Their weapons and armor were of fine make. The polished steel shone brightly in the midday sun. Banners resplendent with theTully trout, Stark wolf, Arryn falcon, and Baratheon stag swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze.
They were four great houses joined together through old friendships, marriage betrothals, and fosterings. Their members had assembled at Riverrun and were meant to ride out for the tourney before Walter told them of its delay. They came to Harrenhal for a different reason, entirely more wonderful and terrible than they could ever imagine.
Amidst the multitudes of men arrayed in the colors of their respective houses, one caught Geralt's eye first. He had a few years on than Jaime, and he was of a height with the Smiling Knight, and his arms thick with muscle, resembled tree trunks. A war hammer of absurd size was slung to the side of his black stallion. Barristan had spoken of Robert Baratheon's impressive size and strength back at King's Landing. Even without the Kingsguard's description Geralt didn't doubted the terror he could sow in a melee.
Next, he noted the Stark pack led by a man of similar age to Walter. His long, brown hair fell past his shoulders and was held back by a band similar to what Geralt used to wear. Thick creases aged Rickard Stark beyond his years, adding grim severity to his long, bearded face. He and his children all were thick cloaks of wolf fur about their shoulders.
Geralt's gaze lingered on a particular item brought by them. Just as with Baratheon, a sword longer than most men were tall was strapped to the side of Rickard's stead.
So that's Valyrian steel. I'll have to take a closer look at it later.
Next, he observed Jon Arryn, who could not be mistaken for anyone else. Tall and broad, powerful in bearing despite being the eldest of the riders. What little hair remained just above and behind his ears was thin and white. Unlike the other great lords, including the youth who shared his blue eyes and aquiline nose, Lord Arryn's armor was plain if finely made steel. Nothing was engraved on it, not even the sigil of his house.
The last lord Geralt focused on, and the first to dismount was Hoster Tully. His auburn, if grey-streaked hair was cut short, accentuating his stern blue eyes. A blue and red cloak held by a trout pin wrapped around his broad shoulders and fell over his right arm, covering much of his sword. Behind him came a man wearing grey mail under blackened steel and a helm with a black trout adorning its crest. His personal banner also had a blackfish on it. Brynden Tully put the helm under his left arm, revealing a younger faceless graven by gray hairs or deep lines than his brother.
For a few moments, silence fell on the courtyard. Most of the new arrivals looked around them with plain surprise. They searched for signs of destruction and seemed perplexed to find Harrenhal not just standing but relatively undamaged.
Jon Arryn was the first to look upon the Hanse. It was impossible to miss them in any crowd with the golden and white armors of Jaime and the Kingsguard. Geralt, quite expectedly, earned the lengthiest stares of those who focused on the party. Not the least for standing to the immediate left of Walter, before even Oswell or Arthur. The youngest Starks seemed the most interested in him.
"My lords," Walter announced. He stepped forward to greet the Tully's. "My friends and my kin, the hospitality of Harrenhal is yours."
The gathered group of knights, guards, servants, and smallfolk knelt before the great lords. The newly arrived nobles seemed to recompose themselves and dismounted in earnest.
"Walter, it is good to see-" Lord Tully's mouth hung open when he looked at his approaching good brother. Brynden Tully, Jon Arryn, and Rickard Stark all goggled like the Tully Lord's sigil. Geralt suppressed a smile of his own at the muttered chuckles from Shella, Oswell, and Jaime.
"Aye, I am pleasant to look upon again," Walter ran a hand through his restored hair. "Perhaps I will be crowned queen of love and beauty at the next tourney?"
The jest hardly seemed to break the daze of his kin and old friends. Walter went on with his pleasantries, guiding his latest guests to where his family stood at the forefront of the welcoming group as if nothing had changed, while Lord Hoster's surprise upon seeing Shella was even plainer. He inhaled sharply as if stabbed, and water seemed to gather around the corners of his eyes. Brynden Tully's helm fell from under his armpit.
"Hoster, Brynden," Lady Shella said with a warm smile. "It gladdens my heart to see you again."
The two Tullys continued to stare in astonishment. Though three years divided them, Shella and Minisa Whent resembled each other close enough to be confused for twins. Lady Tully had passed some years ago in long and painful childbirth and left a shadow over Hoster's heart as Walter told it.
It must be like seeing her again. Geralt thought, feeling a familiar longing for his own lady.
"How can this be?" Lord Tully said with a gasp. "You and Walter, you had aged... yet the years have vanished from you both..."
"All will be revealed in good time," Walter clapped him on the shoulder. "Come, the children are eager to see you."
The Whent children smiled at the sight of their uncles and rushed over to be slightly crushed in excited embraces.
"Where is Roland?" Brynden said. "Has some harm come to him from the fire?"
"Nothing of the sort," Walter answered. "He is performing an important task for me, and I will apprise you of it in due course."
Once the family reunion and formal introductions to the other nobles concluded, attention again fell on the Hanse. Walter stepped to Geralt's side and laid a hand on his shoulder. The great lords and their retinue looked on, their faces fighting between fascination and fear when their eyes met his.
"This is Geralt of Rivia," Lord Whent announced in a clear voice." A witcher or monster slayer from lands very far away and an eternal friend to my house. Some of you may have heard of him already. He is the rescuer of princess Elia and destroyer of the Kingswood Brotherhood."
"I knew it!" The Stark girl said to her brothers in a loud whisper." The two swords, the cat eyes, it's like the bard at Riverrun said!"
"They say he slew the whole Brotherhood in single combat," The youth who resembled Jon Arryn said. "That he carved the Smiling Knight into a dozen pieces."
More murmurs and rumors passed through the crowd as their astonishment grew. The youngest Starks began to debate whether he had cat or snake eyes. Others like Robert Baratheon, Brandon Stark, and Brynden Tully looked on with approval and a hint of challenge in their eyes.
I know who I'll be sparring with tomorrow. Geralt smiled faintly and bowed his head low to the nobles. "Just Geralt is fine, my lords. It's a great honor to meet you all."
Once all formalities and introductions concluded shortly thereafter, the great lords and their retinues were led away to their prepared guest chambers. Baths, shaves, wine, and all other necessities would be offered to them while lunch was cooked. They were all to convene for it in the great hall at the base of Kingspyre Tower.
It was not a lunch any of the new arrivals would forget.
At two in the afternoon, the Lord and Lady Whent, three members of the Hanse and the great lords, and their nearest kin trickled into the hall. Geralt and Arthur stood by a closeby archway entrance and watched them go in.
The knight had put aside his armor for a tunic made in the colors of his house. It was embroidered with swords and falling stars along the length. The snow-white cloak remained over his shoulders, contrasted by black trousers and knee-high leather boots. Dawn, in its long sheath, was in his left hand. Geralt opted to wear his Manticore armor, freshly cleaned and patched about the shoulder where Harren had pierced it. Both of his swords were hung on his back.
The two men waited in silence until the large, wooden double doors creaked open, and a guard gestured for them to enter.
"Time for another show," Geralt said and walked to the doors. Arthur smiled and followed after him.
This hall didn't match the sheer absurdity of the now-destroyed main one. Geralt counted only twelve hearths surpassing Brokilon trees in height, and ordinary castle bed-chambers spread throughout the room. Tall windows numberings in the dozens and parted drapes from Essos let in beams of afternoon sunlight.
The high table was raised on a dais at the northern end of the hall, beneath great banners with House Whents sigil. Walter was seated in the center. Shella sat to his right while Hoster and Brynden Tully were to his left. Three other tables were positioned perpendicular to it. One for the Hanse, another for the Starks, and a final one for Lord Baratheon and the Arryns. There was nothing on any of them. Not dishes or cups or bowls or even a fine cloth.
All eyes fell on Geralt and Arthur as they approached the tables. Their comrades and the Whents simply waited for the next part of their plan to happen. The new guests, however, looked more perplexed by the moment.
"Walter," Lord Tully said with a furrowed brow. "I hope the answers you promised me are soon to arrive."
"You will have them in but a moment, brother," Walter gestured to Geralt and Arthur with an amused glint in his eye. "My friends, do what you do best."
And so they did. The witcher and knight unsheathed their blades and struck them thrice against one another. Purple and blue ripples of pure power burst forth from the clashing swords, thunder reared across the hall, and the wind struck out like a hundred whips.
Their friends and allies who knew ahead of time braced themselves. Everyone else was taken completely unawares by the discharge. The youngest Starks quailed and hid under the table while the older men's long brown hairs were flung in every direction and stayed up. They looked like mad wraiths in human flesh. Lord Baratheon moved to shield the elder Jon with his own body while Elbert prevented him and his chair from falling over. Hoster Tully reeled back and sunk in his seat. His brother stood sharply and tensed as if ready for battle. The room's other occupants took the display in stride.
Long was the silence that followed in the wake of their latest demonstration. The rippling wind concluded its sweep across the hall and died somewhere in the furthest corners.
"What- What is the meaning of this...?" Lord Tully's voice returned after a while. "What did they do?!"
"Gave you all a taste of sorcery, Hoster," Lord Walter said." why I forbade any cutlery from being in this room."
Geralt heard all of his companions try and fail at suppressing their laughs. According to what Oswell told them some weeks ago, Walter got struck in the eye by a flung spoon when first they demonstrated magic at Harrenhal. He was loath to have it happen again.
Soon, servants came to and from the hall, bringing plates with black sausages, beef, and roasted ribs. They were ignored, while the cups and jugs of black wine were far less so.
While Arthur sat down at the Hanse's table, Geralt took an offered glass and sipped the wine. He then stood several paces away from the tables so that all might see him.
"What Lord Walter says is true. Contrary to what you may believe or know, magic is far from dead in your lands. Quite the opposite."
At length, Geralt elaborated on Walter's cryptic opening statement. He spoke plainly of the curse, its effects on those who resided at Harrenhal across the ages, and what it took to break it. Looks of varying incredulity rose among most of the newly arrived, and the expected disbelief burst from one of the younger attendants.
"Curses and wraiths?" Brandon Stark laughed, and Baratheon joined him. "My lords, are we truly to believe this mummery?"
Geralt said nothing and showed even less on his face. They had anticipated such reactions ahead of time.
"Don't be so quick to dismiss a catastrophe several of us bore witness to and participated in stopping, Lord Stark," Arthur said, politely cutting the young men off.
He and the rest of the Hanse took turns speaking next. Alone, Geralt could still be doubted or dismissed as a liar and charlatan. With two famed Kingsguard, the Grand Maester, Tywin Lannister's son, and the leading Whents backing his claims, mockery and doubt faded. A growing pair of wonder and admiration grew amongst most of the audience, particularly for Jaime and Pycelle for turning the tide.
"Harren murdered and devoured his own son?!" Lord Rickard exclaimed in rage and disgust at Shella's account of the weirwood vision.
"These wraiths, you said they could appear and disappear at will?" Ser Brynden asked Jaime.
"Is he truly gone...?" Lyanna Stark asked last. She eyed the room with uncertainty. "Harren is truly defeated?"
"Gone forever," Geralt answered. "The beatings he received on top of Jaime's killing stroke broke his corporeal form, his ability to remain among the living. Whatever's left of his worthless soul has been scattered to the winds. No one will ever suffer from the curse of Harrenhal again."
Geralt noticed her give Jaime another imperceptible glance across the hall. She's better at hiding it than Maris. He thought, thankful that the lad had sense with women and his boundaries with them.
"At my age, you don't expect to be surprised anymore," Jon Arryn said with a smile. "Yet I speak for all of us when I say the five of you brave men have done the Seven Kingdoms a tremendous service. Truly, this is an accomplishment worthy of the Age of Heroes."
Nods and murmurs of agreement rose from the new arrivals. Geralt bowed his head in recognition of the thanks but expected more to come. The old lord spent the past two hours as silent as a crypt, outwardly unmoved by all this talk of centuries-long torment and death-defying heroics. He neither showed any doubt once his composure returned after the demonstration nor asked any questions. The witcher, however, didn't fail to notice the cogs turning behind those keen, blue eyes.
"All the same, the joy and pride of your victory is muted," His smile faded. "Other men do not seem so grim or held back in the glow of their success as I notice the five of you are. There is something else you wish to tell us, something altogether less pleasant."
The lightening mood was stalled and began to diminish in but a few heartbeats. Doused by the words, the new arrivals began to look between them, and in the silence that fell, many of them knew Lord Arryn was right in his suspicions.
Walter was right. He is a sharp one. Geralt said nothing, merely had another sip of wine to lubricate his dry throat after more talking in a week than he typically did in a month. "Your reputation as a keen observer is well earned, Lord Arryn. You're right, there's another matter we have to discuss, and I'm sorry to say there's no happy ending to it yet. The Others have come back."
At this news, the old falcon's demeanor was broken as though an arrow had pierced his side. Eyes widened across the hall, and the quiet that followed was absolute and dead. Geralt pressed on. He told them of the Conjunction and how it brought back magic and the Others to Westeros.
"Those stories you tell to frighten children at night?" He continued, moving on to more present matters. "They're true: the Others have spent the past few months attacking wildlings tribes and settlements. Every person they kill rises as one of their undead soldiers, and one day very soon, they'll have enough wights to march on the Wall and take it. The wildlings are becoming displaced, pushed farther back. It's only a matter of time before they head for your Wall."
"Father," Brandon Stark whispered loud enough for only Lord Stark and Geralt to hear. "What he says... It is the same as what we've heard from Castle Black."
Rickard Stark closed his eyes. The lines about his face thickened, and the already present grimness of his features grew tenfold. The Warden of the North rose from his seat and looked this way and that to the others.
"What you say is true, master witcher," Lord Stark said following a long sigh. "One of the reasons I came down for this tourney was to bring a grave matter to the attention of my fellow lords and possibly the king. Over the past few moons, several troubling letters from Lord Commander Qorgyle have arrived at Winterfell. They spoke of rangers vanishing with naught left but blood in the snow. Wildling settlements Huts and dwellings ruined in savage raids, clothes, and tools abandoned, pools of blood in the snow yet without a single corpse in sight."
He paused and shook his head. "Truthfully? We began to fear another King beyond the Wall."
"If only it were so simple," Hoster Tully said with plain distaste, fists rested on the table. "Before today, we could dismiss any claims of the Others return with jeers and scorn. I am not foolish to do so now: they are coming, and many thousands of desperate wildlings will come for the Wall ahead of them. They have nowhere else to go."
"Let them come!" Came Robert Baratheon's thunderous response. The pound of his fist shook the table enough to make the cups dance across it. "When they try to pass the Wall, these wildling and Others pricks will find the strength of the Seven Kingdoms ready to throw their arses back down!"
"It always astounds me when you think only as far as your hammer reaches, Robert," Lord Arryn chided him. At once, Lord Baratheon quieted down. "Remember what Geralt said? Every man who dies is another soldier the Others can use against us. To enter into a long, bloody battle against the wildlings may doom us all in the long term. You spoke of a King beyond the Wall, Rickard? I daresay such a man would be of great use to us."
It was indeed a daring thing to say. The suddenness and gall behind the words were enough to shake everyone from the grim mood. The Starks had the most visceral reaction. Eddard looked at his foster father as though he were a stranger. Brandon Starks's face took a red tinge. Geralt could hear his teeth grind.
"You cannot mean that, Jon," Eddard said in disbelief.
"I should hope he doesn't," Brandon Stark unclenched his jaw. "They are savages, Lord Arryn. Raiders and murders and rapists. The instant you turn your back, they'll slit your throat to the bone and eat your heart with a smile."
"I never claimed they weren't those things," Lord Arryn replied, unmoved by the youth's anger. "What you forget is that they are also men. Men want things, gold, food, a roof over their heads, or in this case, a wall to shield them. I've no doubt many of them are too vicious and short-sighted to negotiate with us. I also doubt all of them are foolish enough to think that a fight on the Wall benefits anyone. Besides, better they serve our purposes rather than the enemies."
"What do the Others even want?" The youngest of the Starks, Benjen asked.
The boy of twelve turned from Lord Arryn and looked to Geralt for an answer. Fear was plain to see in his wide grey eyes.
It's not every day that the scary monster under your bed turns out to exist. The witcher looked at the boy with pity and soon found himself the center of attention again.
"Surely they want something?" Benjen asked again. "People don't fight without reason, right?"
"People usually don't, no," Geralt said. "And make no mistake, the Others are a people too. They're the first intelligent species to live in this world. Long before there were men, children of the forest or even seasons, these were lands of always winter..."
And so, over the next few hours, he gave a shortened account of a lengthier history told to them by Howland over many evenings. He told them how the world was once blanketed by endless ice storms, how the seas were frozen over, and one could walk over their length from one side of the world to another. This was the home of the Others, and forages beyond count it remained the same. The Others ruled it and were some of the only creatures hardy enough to survive and thrive in it.
It didn't last. The world began to change. It grew warmer, and the sun eventually pierced through the clouds. Winter began to fail. During this time, the Others came into contact with another sentient race.
"I mentioned a doorway that brought me to this world? Well, it was once part of many such portals connecting dozens of planets. An entire system devised by a particular species known as the elves. They are an ancient, proud and warmongering race, and they laid claim on every world across the multiverse. The Others wouldn't give in, and the two species inevitably went to war. The details of this time are sparse, but the Others must have emerged victorious and destroyed much of what the elves built here."
"And then came the children of the forest?" Asked Lyanna.
"Eventually, yes. The children were the second native sentients to emerge into this world. They and the Others for a time too but seemed to reach an accord even as their wintery territory shrank. They might have stayed this way forever if that word ever meant anything in practice. Sure enough, men began to appear as well.
"The children and men were able to coexist after initial hostilities. Most of the Others found it impossible. You were the next stage in the planet's rejection of them. The dreadful looming summer coming to burn and sear the last of winter away. These two species are utterly incompatible in their eyes, and so one of you has to go. Once everything else is dead, their Long Night will engulf the world and bring it back to its original form."
"B-But," Eddard Stark's voice failed him. It took him time to find it again. "But it is madness. Surely they do not think they can turn back the whole world into what once was?!"
"They absolutely do," Geralt answered with a grim severity. "And for a while, I suspect their plan would even work if they won the coming war. This Long Night is a spell of considerable power and reach. It's without question the strongest I've ever encountered. But magic has a price. To draw so much energy from the world itself invites its death and disaster. Look at your seasons as they are right now. Do you think it's normal for them to be this erratic? Believe me, it's not. Where I come from they last just three months."
The sun began to set outside. What beams of its light still entered the room tinged it with orange and red hues. The shadows about them grew, almost as black as the thoughts of doom coursing through everyone's heads.
"They must be stopped," Ser Brynden said with a voice like steel. "No matter the cost, we must end them and ensure they have no hole to crawl back into from this defeat."
"I still don't understand," Benjen said in a whisper. His face was downcast. "They're doing all of this to get their home back, but they'll lose it anyway? They'll fight and die for nothing? Why don't they just stop and leave us alone then?"
"They're a very long-lived species, Lord Stark," Geralt said, understanding the boy's feelings all too well. "And they're proud to the point of arrogance. When you live so long, so assured of your own dominance. All the good sense in the world can't stop you from chasing after the impossible. Even if it means the doom of your species."
"You sound as if you pity them, master witcher," Elbert Arryn pointed out. "Pardon if I offend you, but it is a strange thing to see from a monster slayer."
"Strange as it may sound, you come to pity even those you're supposed to kill," Geralt sighed and felt a great weariness threaten to overcome him, at its heart an old, terrible feeling many a witcher have come to know.
"Bearing witness to the end of a species is never easy. Participating in it is even worse."
"I believe we have done enough for one afternoon," Came the weary voice of Lord Walter. "There is much to think on, and we have only begun to skate across the surface of our problems."
The suggestion garnered murmurs of assent from many of those present. Geralt welcomed the opportunity to retire to his bed and doze like a dead man. The afternoon had left him spent, almost as though he'd gone several more rounds with Harren the Black. Before he even exited the great hall, though, Robert Baratheon had waylaid him for a word.
"I won't keep you long, master witcher," The young man said. "I merely wished to suggest that we spar in the morning? In times like these, it does a man good to send another crashing on their arse in the ring, eh?"
"I can't deny that." Geralt chuckled.
While they conversed, someone outside the hall's entrance had ordered the sentries away. Baratheon seemed not to notice as he left, and Geralt pretended not to hear Lord Tully's voice issue the commands. When the witcher exited the room, he found the great lord standing several paces off to the side. The two men were alone.
"Master witcher," Said Hoster Tully. "I apologize for keeping you here when rest and recovery is warranted. But there are some vital things I still wish to know."
Geralt gave a quiet grunt of acquiescence, "Honestly? I'm surprised more people haven't lined up to delay me."
"For that, we can both be glad," The man's stern blue eyes looked at him closely. "For a start, I wish to thank you for the services rendered to my bannermen. You have aided the Seven Kingdoms and my kin too. I shall not forget it."
Geralt inclined his head but said nothing.
"Now you prepare to do us all an even greater service: defeat the Others," He continued, placing his hands behind his back. "For merely undertaking such a task, a man could ask for a great deal as a reward. Lands, titles, or even enough gold to make the Lannisters envious. You are a sellsword, Geralt. You admitted it hours ago when you first began to speak. So tell me, what do you want out of this?"
The witcher noticed the presence of another. His sharp hearing picked up a pair of almost imperceptible footfalls at one of the hallways intersecting at the great hall's entrance.
Something else to keep me a little busier. Geralt exhaled softly lest his flash of irritation show. "What I want, Lord Tully is to return home. Failing that, for home to come to me."
"And if home comes for you, you intend to leave us to our fate?"
"If home comes for me, everyone on this planet has a better chance of surviving the Long Night," Geralt looked him in the eye and did not blink. "That aside, there are people who I've come to care about a great deal here. I don't abandon my friends for anyone or anything, least of all to save my own skin."
He paused for the span of three heartbeats. "So, you want to reward me? Give me good food, drink, and places to sleep, send what men and support you can to the war, and take my council under serious consideration as the ground shifts in the months ahead."
Lord Tully stared back. His face was impassive though his eyes searched for any sign of deception. Walter had warned Geralt of this too. The Tullys were always in a precarious situation thanks to their location within the Seven Kingdoms. Deals and negotiations were oft the sword and shield keeping them alive these past centuries.
"Very well," Said the great lord, his gaze became less suspicious. "Forgive me, I am... unaccustomed to men being so forthright with me. Do not take my doubts as a sign of falsehood for my earlier words. My gratitude was genuine."
Geralt didn't doubt that at all. He saw it plainly hours ago when Lord Tully laid eyes on the Whents.
"You are a high lord," Geralt said with a heavy respect "Caution is warranted and forthrightness among vassals rare. I would suspect your acumen if you did not ask me what I wanted. But at heart I assure you, I am a simple man."
"All interesting problems assure me at first they are but simple men," said Lord Hoster in an amused grumble, "Good day, Master Witcher."
"And you, Lord Tully." Geralt said, inclining his head.
With that, the great lord strode past Geralt and vanished down a hallway.
"You can come out now," The witcher said to their hidden listener. Howland noiselessly emerged from the shadows.
"My apologies for inadvertently spying on you," The lad said in his usual soft voice. "Lord Hoster seemed intent on a private conversation, and I wished not to interrupt it."
"It's better that you didn't. I've allayed his doubts now and don't have to worry about them later. Now, what is it you wanted to see me for? Has Roland finally reached Maidenpool?"
"Indeed he has. The raven arrived just half an hour past."
He was to thank for any ravens flying at all. Day and night he spent with them in the rookery, muttering in the old tongue of the first men, healing them with seeds and water from the Isle of Faces. Many were capable of flight already, and more would be too.
Thanks to his continued efforts, Harrenhal could send and deliver messages across much of Westeros. They would need these lines of communication in the coming months.
"They found no trouble on the road, and a ship has already agreed to take them and the weirwood to King's Landing. They'll set sail for it in the morning."
Geralt felt his lip twist at the mention of the weirwood wood. The green men had provided several heavy cords of the material after Howland made contact. Walter sent his oldest son, a retinue of guards, and a wagon to carry the material in advance of everyone else.
"They're being very generous with it." Howland reminded him.
"I know and I'm thankful for it. There's no telling how many lives that wood will save," A shiver ran the length of his back. "It's the journey we'll need it for that worries me."
Terrified him in truth. It was a perilous place they would have to trek to. An undertaking that would make the curse-breaking at Harrenhal looks as easy as slaying a crippled drowner by comparison.
"You never know, perhaps your ladies will arrive before you set out for it?" Howland said, trying to sound more sure than either of them felt.
"I hope they do, Howland," The witcher replied with the weariness of a spent old man. We likely won't survive that hell any other way.