Chapter 40
Illyrio Mopatis was once again impressed with his friend’s ability to change his shape. He actually looked like a woman! The false hair framed a face that would not look out of place on one of the more elderly caretakers of merchandise in a brothel. Only the eyes remained the same, though even those could be altered. Not today, it seemed.
“I should never doubt your ability to create wonders,” he said with a grin, revealing his crooked yellow teeth.
“One must never grow complacent, and I fear that we have.”
To his surprise, the words were genuine. No mummery, just apprehension.
Illyrio stroked his forked beard. “You seem upset, and yet, you have once again prevented an all-out war before our pieces are ready.”
Varys, in the form of a woman, remained quiet for a moment.
“He has a shadow-binder, and despite that, I don’t even believe that is the worst threat.”
Illyrio shivered, causing the fat on his body to jiggle. Shadow-binders had true power. His contacts in the red temple told him that Melisandre of Asshai was out of favor with her order, but he had been warned that she was dangerous.
“What could possibly be worse?”
“Sansa Stark. She has the king’s ear and more. She may make future direct action impossible.”
Illyrio turned his head. “Truly?”
Varys had hinted previously that the Stark girl was unnaturally shrewd. Impressing his old friend was no easy task, let alone for a maid her age.
“Yes. Her Ser Alyn is upending how the king protects his family. The Kingsguard has gone from a thin reed to something more. And growing stronger by the hour. It isn’t just the number of men-at-arms, but their quality. Their reliability. Making little progress in a place like King’s Landing, where most would sell their own mother for a silver stag is troubling. My ability to influence events and strike when needed is diminished.”
“What must be done then?” Illyrio ask, though he already suspected the answer.
Varys spoke and Illyrio listened. He was not thrilled, but he would do what was necessary. The setback of Khal Drogo’s death had been a bruising blow, but not completely disastrous. Remarkably, an entirely new avenue had presented itself recently and it made him want to dance with delight.
If only you could have lived long enough to see it, Serra.
“And what will you do about the shadow-binder?”
“Stay away from her as much as possible and let events play out as they may. Stannis is at odds with the king. It seems the Stark girl has no love for the priestess either, so far as I can tell. Sometimes, the best thing to do is nothing and let others play out their dramas. Not every ball must be within a juggler’s control,” Varys said with a wistful tone.
“Just so.”
***
Lysa had been so terrified when word came that her love was wanted by the crown. Her Petyr, her brilliant and adoring Petyr, was being hunted! When she had received the raven she had trembled nearly as much as her Robin did. She wanted to call her banners. Prepare for war against anyone and everyone if it meant that her love would be safe.
She didn’t do that, for her handsome lover had left instructions should anything of the sort occur. He was so cunning that he had prepared for many different situations. Lysa just had to trust he could make it back to the Eyrie on his own.
The Seven had smiled on her elsewhere. Her Sweetrobin was doing better of late. His shaking sickness still occurred at times, but he was a strong boy. The Lords of the Vale still pressed her, but there had been a lessening of their insistence. It seemed to her that the appointment of one of the Vale's lords as Hand had left them divided. The king was still demanding her son to be fostered and his Hand had sent a rather terse letter demanding she give him up.
Her Petyr had a plan for that too. Part of it had been ensuring that all of her suitors understood the true Warden of the East would remain in the Eyrie. That had driven a few away, those who lacked the fortitude to do right by her son.
Not that I will ever marry any of them. No man can compare to my lord.
When her love had finally arrived she dismissed her maid and then enveloped him in a hug.
“How long it has been.” Lysa murmured, as she breathed in his scent. “Oh, how very, very long.”
“I’m here now, sweet Lysa.” Petyr gently disentangled himself from her and then kissed her hand.
“I was so worried! That cruel king, demanding people find you and put you in fetters for the king’s justice! He’s no better than Aerys. Doesn’t he know how much you’ve done for the realm? For me? For our son?”
He smiled at her; gods she loved that smile.
“Our king has never been wise, but it is not him that is the problem. I would love nothing more than to marry you, but with the king sending out his edict, we must keep our passion a secret a little longer.”
Lysa wished to weep. She had waited so long already. Petyr knew best, she just had to trust him.
“What must be done?”
“That depends on many things, matters that you must not trouble yourself over. We must be very careful, perhaps even allow you to enter into a betrothal to someone else…”
“No! No, I refuse. I won’t wed any other man but you.”
He kissed her and his hands roamed in just the right places.
“Of course not. But a betrothal is not a marriage. A betrothal can allow me to accomplish what needs to be done, perhaps. I swear to you, on my love for you, you will never marry again unless it is to me.”
Lysa accepted those words with another kiss. She then told her Petyr everything about what had gone on in the Vale while he was gone. Even how much better their boy was doing of late. Petyr frowned at that.
“That is good, but it grieves me that I was not here to see it. I’ll speak with the maester and discover what has changed that has bettered him.”
Lysa smiled. “I know what it is.”
Petyr’s eyes were sharp, those beautiful, inquisitive, and curious eyes.
“It is his false father being gone. That old man was poison. Always pressuring him to try to do more. To go to his lessons even when he felt bad. He wanted to have him trained in the yard when he could barely stand! That wretched old man dying is what allowed our baby to heal.”
Petyr’s eyes softened and he patted her hand. “Yes, that must be it. A mother always knows.”
***
I would kill for some coffee. I wasn’t quite at the point where I would look for alternative stimulants, but the lack of sleep was really starting to catch up with me.
While it was incredibly obvious to me that Varys was the one who was using the tongueless children, I didn’t have proof. It was also technically possible he was subcontracting his work and truly didn’t know, but I highly doubted that. I also didn’t have a great way to report my findings without revealing I had some means of knowing. Arya had suggested she tell the king she had dreams, but the last thing I wanted to do was have the king believing nonsense that might make him believe Melisandre.
She’s dangerous. Her stagecraft was good, she’s beautiful, and her ability to mince words was better than most.
My father was still dragging his heels on giving Robert a response. I had told Mother that it wouldn’t be hard to break the betrothal at a later date, but for now it was important that the king had complete confidence in the parentage of his children. I fear I misplayed that a bit due to lack of sleep as my parents found the idea of accepting a betrothal with the knowledge that the intent was to break it rather dishonorable.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I worked with Tyrion on the creation of reading glasses and made real progress. A prototype was now ready and working. It felt good to raise the level of technology of this world a bit. Tyrion seemed to be in a better mood as well. Being forced not to overindulge in wine did wonders for everyone, including Tyrion.
While Robert was also not partaking as much, he was still a late riser. I joined him for the last breakfast and we talked a bit more about his brother Stannis. I was getting fed up with it all honestly and had just suggested he give him a direct order to summon what banners he had and sail or march north to assist my father. While he refused to swear an oath to defend Tommen’s claim, at the very least, he would have to obey Robert’s call to arms. If he refused, attaint him fully. I was less tactful than I typically was.
“Hah! Even you have found your limit when dealing with my brother. Imagine having to live in the same castle as him.”
Tearing down Stannis was an easy way to build rapport with Robert, but I demurred. The man had been tricked by a smooth operator. His refusal to falsely swear oath to defend Tommen’s claim if Robert died and then rally the banners anyway was very much like my father. It would have been easy just to say words he didn’t mean and claim new evidence arrived later, but instead he took his word seriously and refused to give it even if it imperiled his position.
Robert told me after breakfast that this evening the matching bracelets for Myrcella and me would be ready. The whole welcome to the family gesture was a bit odd given that he hadn’t acted this way with my betrothal to Joffrey, and my father still hadn’t consented, but the situation was also different.
My schedule was extremely busy as I had to help Alyn with creating proper security protocols and vetting of new servants. Part of what I wanted to do was actively recruit outside of King’s Landing to reduce the chance that new hires already served someone else. My fake bribes to test people could weed out people who might be inclined to betray later, but if they were already on someone’s payroll they could pass the test and I could trust them in error. I was beginning to worry Alyn may be a bit out of his depth, but I couldn’t hold his hand through it all.
Then I had agreed to share a meal with my uncle, afterwards I had a brief chance to breathe as I oversaw Arya warg into Ser Pounce. I used that time to order my thoughts and jot down some other ideas for Ser Alyn. When evening came Robert was very excited.
He had two bracelets of gold worked. One was slightly bigger than the other, that one was for me since I was a few years older than Myrcella. The filigree and designs were quite well made and each had a red gemstone at the center. Visha gave a whine as a pleased Robert brought them out.
I glanced at my wolf and briefly flipped through her senses. Scent triggered something. Visha could smell blood. As Robert excitedly talked I looked closely and realized he had a small cut on his palm and the blood smell came from both bracelets.
“You are not of my blood, Sansa, but you will be. I know Ned and Cat will accept the betrothal arrangement.”
Myrcella smiled and nodded happily. “I can’t wait until Sansa is my sister!”
I let the princess grab her jewelry first. Visha’s reaction was making me wary. The wolf’s senses were simply better than mine. Blood shouldn’t make her whine, though. I hesitated even though nothing happened when Myrcella picked hers up and worked the clasp onto her wrist.
“Blood, like the gemstone? I’m curious, Your Grace, I see a cut on your hand and Visha seems somewhat alarmed.”
Robert smiled. “Yes, there’s power in blood, you know? Smallfolk say it regularly and there’s wisdom there.”
I looked at him with faint disbelief on my face.
“Now we’ll always be bonded, you’ll carry a part of me while you wear that.”
He held it out for me to take again. I took hold of it and carefully examined it. A sense of déjà vu came over me. Visha once again whined. With some unease I took hold of it. When your boss was holding out something, you couldn’t just directly refuse. In my hands it felt just like any other piece of jewelry. Larger, better made, and more expensive than most, but just normal. Nothing seemed wrong despite Visha’s clear worry through our bond.
“Go on, put it on.” Robert said with enthusiasm. The problem with him was that once something got in his head, it was difficult to get it out. That’s why it was so important to preempt issues like I had done with Cersei confessing to her children being Jaime’s.
I’m being foolish. Myrcella looks fine. The weirdness I’ll need to investigate, but I can’t act churlish here.
I placed the bracelet around my wrist and closed the clasp.
***
Brienne enjoyed the company of the Northmen more than that of the Stormlands at times. Even her father’s men-at-arms always looked at her askance, though at least they had the decency to avoid making it plain. They also did not jest of her where she might hear, but the same could not be said for other men of the Stormlands.
She had long grown used to it, but the men of White Harbor gave her no more than a second glance. She was big, massive for a woman, but even were she a man, it would be noticeable by all. Of all the knights and soldiers present, she stood the tallest. It pained her to realize how much someone not acting like an ass about the course she had chosen, warmed her.
The Shivering Sea had been properly named. Ser Wylis had the notion that by sailing farther north of the Wall than Lord Stark's host could likely reach on foot, they could cover far more territory than if they remained near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. That put them north of even the Antler river.
Night had fallen and Brienne insisted on doing her part. She may be the heir of House Tarth, but here she was just another warrior, if one more heavily armored than most men-at-arms. Her cobalt blue plate armor was a sharp contrast to the boiled leather and mail most had. She was on watch with two Manderly men and another from Crow’s Nest, a surly man by the name of Erryk.
The fire crackled, keeping the worst of the chill wind away from her. Tarth was not incredibly wealthy, but her father had ensured that she and the small company of men had furs, blankets, and tents. She was thankful for it, though she had been told this was not yet winter.
To think some lands had summer snows.
The white raven had gone out from the Citadel, she knew. It was now Autumn and dark talk spoke of how long summers always led to longer winters. The Manderly men were in good enough spirits, but Erryk glared and regularly moved his head this way and that whenever a sound was made.
“Calm yourself, I doubt there’ll be any wildlings about. And if there are any, it will go as well as it did last time!” the Manderly guard said contemptuously.
“As you say, but I’ll be happy when Ser Guyard says enough has been done to satisfy honor. Wildlings and their tall tales of wights.”
The Manderly guard shook his head. “Stark says the Watch is to be believed, so they will be.”
Erryk spat. “That one had his own queer stories to tell. That’s why ‘es not the Hand no more. You lot will believe anything.”
Brienne stood up to interpose herself when one of the guards rose and looked as if there would be blood over the remark.
“Easy, friend. He’s just cold and the night unfamiliar.”
“Are you calling me a craven?” Erryk said angrily. Brienne sighed, she had been trying to help.
Still, at least the focus was no longer on Lord Stark and their task. As the heat bled off and both men cooled, so did their environs. The flame flickered and the warmth it shed quickly dwindled. Brienne frowned and leaned closer. Even with the layers she wore, from her surcoat, mail, plate, and thick cloak she suddenly felt frigid.
“W-who goes there?” Erryk chattered and drew steel.
“What do you see?” Brienne asked as the wind began to howl.
The two Manderly guards shivered. “Gods, it’s cold. We should make the fire larger, be useful and grab some more kindling.”
“I’m telling you, there’s something there.”
Brienne saw nothing, but she’d rather be wrong and be made a fool of than fail in her duty.
“UP! Wake!” she cried.
No sooner had she done so than the sound of footsteps in the snow was heard. The flames dwindled as pinpricks of blue revealed themselves. A man, with one side of his face torn away, crashed into one of the Manderly guards. Brienne moved immediately, but before she could stab his attacker four more burst forward.
“For Robert!” she cried as she lashed out with all her considerable power. Her blade smashed into the man with a killing blow. Her sword ripped into his side with such force that her blade smashed through ribs like an axe splits firewood. The bulk slammed into her and kept fighting. Fingers clawed toward her face. She shoved it back, hard, and it fell backwards into another charging form.
“WIGHTS!” she cried. “Wake!”
Erryk was on his feet and had stabbed another, but it too did not slow and Brienne saw his neck get wrenched with strength that belied the skinny figure that attacked him. Her eyes widened in horror and she swung her sword in a decapitating strike and then delivered a powerful front kick to the belly of another. She scooped up her great helm and shoved it on her head as another slammed into her.
Brienne went down, but as she did she rolled as if she had fallen from a horse. Using the momentum, she was able to pin her attacker beneath her. With her armor and size she must have weighed double, but the dead thing underneath her slammed one arm into her armor and dented it while throwing her off him.
She slammed back into the log she had previously been seated on around the fire. Dazed for a moment she heard the camp come to life to screams of terror, but also ones of fury and valor.
“Manderly!”
“The North!”
“Robert!”
Brienne swung as the wight descended onto her, but her strike wasn’t strong enough to beat it away. She let go of her sword and tried to keep its deadly hands away from her. She knew she was stronger than near every man she had encountered but this creature’s strength was something else. Brienne’s grip on its wrist slowed it only briefly as it tried to twist at her helm.
Too strong, but also light.
Switching tactics she prayed she had time. She let go of those deadly appendages, grabbed it by the shoulder and then twisted upward and away. She was not contesting its strength, and instead just lifting half her weight and throwing it backwards.
The grasping fingers clung to her helm, bending the metal, but at the same time its body landed onto the dwindling fire. A whoosh of fire, almost like that of the blade of that priest from Myr, went up and the wight’s grip on her helm slackened. Heat roared for a moment as the corpse blackened and burned with surprising swiftness. Heedless of the heat, Brienne grabbed a burning log from the fire and used it to strike at another wight that had finished off one of the Manderly guards.
“Use fire!” Brienne roared as she saw the second wight ignite.
Horses screamed and Brienne gasped as she saw that within less than a minute the entire camp was nearly overrun. Blades were little use. They needed fire. Thinking quickly, she grabbed some of the logs and hurled some at the tents to have them catch fire. Only… the frigid cold and howling wind did not cause the bonfire she had wished.
Another wight lurched toward her, slower than a man running, but still with some speed. Brienne lashed out with her brand and it caught fire. With a burst of strength she grabbed the burning wight, picked it up and ran it toward one of the larger tents, throwing the incinerating corpse into the side of it. That did the trick.
Seven give me strength!
“To the horses! Back to the ships! On the double!” Ser Guyard called out, a small knot of men and squires around him. Wights streamed around the burning tent. They veered around the brightest flames, but the moment she stepped away they came for her again. But she couldn’t huddle safely by the fire, and not just because it would go out at some point. Brienne charged them, setting aflame any she could. She would buy time and let them escape.
“For King Robert!” she cried again, though it was Renly’s handsome face that filled her mind as she fought.
***
Catelyn Stark fretted. Sansa had not inhabited Ana the night previously. The worst came to mind, but Maester Luwin managed to calm her. There were many, many possibilities. Perhaps she was ill in a way that prevented her from slipping her skin. Perhaps she had been called to attend the king. Or perhaps she had lost connection in the way she had lost connection with her raven when it had flown north. There were a thousand and one possible explanations, not all of them overly dire.
I must not give in to fear.
The night had been restless and she feared she would not be good company for the first guests of note arriving. The ways of the host must still be done, bread and salt, words of hospitality. The first to arrive were a pair of men-at-arms from House Reed along with Howland’s children.
His heir, Jojen Reed, was as slender as his namesake. He was scarcely taller than Bran, should he have been able to stand. The boy’s eyes were an unusually deep green, and he attired himself strangely as well. Every stitch of clothing, along with even his boots, was green.
His sister was a bit taller than her brother. She was flat-chested, in a way that would make few men look twice at her. Her lambskin breeches and sleeveless jerkin of bronze scale were odd attire for a noble lady of Westeros.
Arya would be enchanted. Seven help me, I can’t believe Ned is allowing Arya to take up the sword!
Not for the first time, she wondered where she went wrong with both of her daughters. It could only be the North itself. The home of Mormonts and Reeds was not a place that would ever accept her southern ways in full. High ladies did not do these sorts of things, except when they did.
She completed the ritual with Robb by her side. Both Reed children seemed to accept the presence of Robb’s great direwolf far better than their two escorts did.
Jojen then looked at her directly.
“We must speak, Lady Stark. It is about Bran.”
Less than an hour later in the privacy of her husband’s solar, she asked for more. Maester Luwin was there as was Robb. Jojen had requested that it just be her and Bran, but she had refused. She was the Lady of Winterfell, Robb was her husband’s heir, and she trusted Luwin completely. She would not be moved until she heard what this was about.
“This may be difficult for you to understand, but I will swear it before the heart tree if necessary. Your son Bran… he, well, he is a warg.”
Robb laughed.
Meera shot him a look. “It is not jest. Jojen is not oft wrong about anything.”
Catelyn sent a glare her son’s way. “Such a claim is bold indeed, coming from so far away as Greywater Watch. I would hear your reasoning.”
Jojen gave a short, solemn nod. “I am a dreamer. I have seen him with a wolf’s face. A warg is a skinchanger who can slip into the skin of other creatures. But he is far more than just a warg. The three-eyed crow has marked him.”
Luwin cleared his throat. “This sounds all rather fantastical. The extent of your knowledge is that you dreamed of it?”
A knowing smile appeared on the boy’s face.
“Yes, just as I dreamed you would believe me.” He looked directly at her. “Just like I know you are with child. A daughter.”
Catelyn was only just beginning to show, and that could easily be mistaken for heavy feasting. The claim that it would be a daughter was unprovable, but…
Robb stepped in to fill the surprised silence. “What else have you dreamed?”
“Much and more. Only…” Jojen sighed. “Dreams that are green always come true, but not as of late. I tell you this freely, even though it hurts my claim, but you are not where you should be. Thank the gods.”
Robb’s face looked amused. “Oh, where should I be?”
“A Stark must always be at Winterfell, but in my dreams you went south. It is unclear, but what I do know, is that you never returned.”
Catelyn felt it in her bones that this child was not dissembling. He believed what he spoke and what he spoke terrified her. That he should know about Bran’s ability to warg should be impossible. No mention of it was ever made by letter and they had been exceedingly careful only to speak of it amongst themselves.
“Say that we believe you,” Robb said slowly, “what is your purpose? This warg claim, are you one yourself? What do you want from Bran?”
Jojen shook his head. “No, I do not have that gift.” Jojen eyed Robb and then Grey Wind. “Oh. You are one too?”
Catelyn saw her son try to mask his response with a mirthful chuckle.
“If this is a jest, I fear you go too far, Jojen.”
Meera looked thoughtfully at Robb.
“You are, aren’t you. That was unexpected, but maybe that is good. I wonder…”
Catelyn was quickly losing patience. “This sort of foolish talk is dangerous. You’ve yet to explain what you want with Bran.”
Jojen cocked his head. “He needs to go north, beyond the Wall. He is the winged wolf, bound by Winterfell’s grey stone chains.”
The silence settled for a moment before Catelyn shook her head from side to side.
“Absolutely not.”
Author's Note: I've started writing the next chapter, likely that one will also end up on a cliffhanger too as I keep the reader in the dark on what's going on with our protagonist.