I was pleased that the Hound was willing to enter my service for a variety of reasons. The first and foremost was my curiosity about his 'death' and revival. Sandor was different physiologically, which lent credence to the possibility that he was revived from death. His core temperature was several degrees warmer than that of other humans, and he seemed not to enjoy the taste of food as much, so much so that he sometimes forgot to eat. This, however, did not cause him to lose energy or stamina. It was baffling, as his energy balance should not allow for this.
At this point, I wondered if he could even be classified as human. It was bizarre. He still had a pulse. He also still breathed in and out. Thoros of Myr had somehow raised the dead, and in the process, created something wholly new. I wondered what would happen if Clegane slept with a woman. Were the changes that Thoros had made to him something that went down to the genetic level? If I had to guess, he was likely sterile, and it was probably severely unethical to even consider experimenting like that.
My secondary reason was that he had a lot of experience being a sworn shield. He had been loyal, to a fault at times, and that meant he was a cut above others I might choose to add to the ranks of the Stormguard.
Our march to the Bloody Gate was uneventful until a day before our arrival. Ravens could not find groups on a march; they were trained to fly to specific towns, castles, and keeps. However, a courier with a remount can make much faster time than a group of two hundred, like us. One such courier had an important missive for me – word from King's Landing
I read over the letter and frowned. Aegon had conditionally accepted the Trial of Seven, but had given some stipulations that gave me pause. It had been too much to hope that my fighting prowess would remain a secret after so many battles. I convened with Barristan and Brienne about the letter's contents.
"Aegon has conditionally accepted, based on his discussions with the High Septon in King's Landing." I frowned. "And with the backing of important figures among the Most Devout in Oldtown."
"That is good news, surely?" Brienne said, her voice rising in question.
"His High Holiness has stated that it would be blasphemous to participate in more than one Trial of Seven. That such a thing would test the patience of the Father and void any trial."
Barristan asked to see the letter, and I handed it to him.
"Unlike the Stormlords, they will allow mounted combat. It reads here, 'The Lady Myrcella may choose whether the battle be fought unaccompanied or if mounts will be allowed.' While this means you cannot participate, it would allow me to."
I saw that, and mused about it. Then I saw the word choice, and realized that Aegon was a clever little shit. The Golden Company and their elephants were in King's Landing. Our agreeance to mounted combat would allow Ser Barristan to participate, but then we would be faced with dangerous elephants. By giving us the choice, they enticed us even as they stripped me of the ability of fight, and several of my best knights.
I explain my thoughts, and Barristan frowns. "Well spotted, my lady, will you negotiate or outright refuse?"
That was a good question. Without my participation, I could not be certain of the outcome. The letter also indicated that Aegon and the High Septon had posted copies of this letter in King's Landing and sent it to the major lords of the land. I didn't have to accept; especially after what had happened in the Vale, I could easily say that I feared treachery.
"I say we refuse, Lady Myrcella," Brienne spoke firmly. "I cannot participate, neither can Ser Arys, Ser Gladden, Ser Theo, and others. With Ser Barristan's leg still posing such a difficult, we are at a grave disadvantage."
I give a light chuckle. "What? No faith in the Seven to anoint us the victor, no matter whom we choose?"
Brienne flushed, not quite sure how to respond. I let her off the hook.
"I jest, but I still see this as an opportunity worth considering. Assuming Lord Stark adheres to his side of the deal, the North will be out of the war and focused on the Wall. The Riverlands primarily backed Lord Stark due to the family ties, and we have Edmure. Many of the R'hllor supporters are heading north, meaning the remainder will be the pious folk of the Seven. Some may join Jon Targaryen, but it is my hope that most will choose peace."
I thought of the different ways it could go wrong.
"Assuming this isn't a trap, and assuming we win, the war is as good as done. Stannis will be left with the Vale, Eddard's nephew will have the North, and the Greyjoys will do whatever they wish, but we will have all the south, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. All this could be done before the wrath of winter truly sets in."
Brienne looked pensive. "Is there no way we can challenge this ridiculous restriction?"
"Maybe. But with the Septons in Oldtown and King's Landing already making the decree, they will be opposed to taking back those words," I explain.
"I am wary of a trap as well, but I support the idea of accepting, even with the stipulations," Barristan spoke with a certain level of weariness. "The war has gone on for well over a year, and with the armies so scattered about, it could easily drag on for years more."
The question was, who would be my champions? And who would be Aegon's. And how could I tilt the odds in our favor? My mind was made up – I couldn't let the war drag on for no purpose. Aegon, or his advisors, were smart enough to stack the odds in their favor, but I would have months to plan, and with it, time to train.
They aren't the 203rd, and a boot camp isn't necessarily ideal for seasoned warriors, but I am looking forward to some focused improvement.
"I'll write the letter accepting the offer. I'll include stipulations, and require public oaths guaranteeing my safety and that of my champions. I'll have Ser Gladden and Ser Theo begin moving 'merchants' into King's Landing as well in case of treachery."
Events were in motion, but first I had a prisoner swap to conduct. Thinking of the Starks also gave me another idea…
***
Arya had thought she knew what cold was like. She did not. The cold was growing worse, and every night it felt as if it cut deeper into her bones. Were it not for Nymeria's warm body that she slept curled up against, she was certain she would have frozen. Meera and Jojen slept back-to-back, huddled under furs, and Arya worried over Syrio.
The thin man simply shook his head. "A girl should worry for herself. Each morning, check fingers and toes. The First Sword of Braavos has been many places, including Ibben. Do not worry."
Arya distracted herself from the freezing temperatures by asking him about the place. It was a cold land that traded whale bone and blubber with merchants from the south. The men there were short and fantastically hairy. As Syrio spoke of other places he had visited, Arya felt incredibly grateful. It allowed her mind to wander away.
"We are close," Jojen told the group. "I've seen this place in my dreams."
"Finally!" Arya exhaled, her breath misting in the frigid air.
Each day brought less sunlight. Arya wasn't sure if true winter was setting in or if it was because of where they were. She trudged along until Nymeria growled.
"Wait, something is wrong." Arya said.
Jojen shook his head. "We are almost there. I've dreamed of it. It will be warm in the cave; we have to keep going."
Arya looked around but saw no threats, just trees laden with snow. The hill ahead was steep, and she felt a knot of tension in her neck. Nymeria stayed close, the deep rumble in the wolf's throat continuing. The snow was deep, rising up and over Arya's knees. She knew that once they found the cave, they would need to start a fire to dry out their boots.
The wind began to howl, and Nymeria snarled as a hand clawed up through the snow, grasping at Meera. Meera fell backward as the wolf bit into the ragged figure, tearing a blackened hand from a pale arm. Arya stood frozen, watching in horror as the creature continued to rise, snapping at Nymeria. Even more terrifying was the severed hand, now writhing across the snow, skittering straight toward her.
Syrio was there in an instant and skewered the hand, and it writhed on his blade.
"A girl must be fast – go, to the cave!"
More creatures emerged from the snow – two, then two more. The wind and deep snow made haste nearly impossible as the undead closed in. Meera thrust her spear into one, holding its clawing hands at bay, but another was advancing quickly. Syrio launched himself at it, using the pommel of his dueling sword to bash the head of the dead thing that lunged at him.
Arya doubted the creature felt any pain, but it turned away from Meera and lunged at Syrio, clawing and grasping. Despite the snow, Syrio moved with a grace Arya had only begun to emulate. But despite having its flesh pierced, the monster never ceased its relentless pursuit. Jojen suddenly fell into the snow as something grabbed hold of his leg.
Arya scrambled and helped him to his feet as a creature in a tattered black cloak collided with her. The bony fingers were clawing at her, and only her thick furs kept it from causing serious harm. She tried to dislodge it, but it had a strength she could not match. Arya rolled over as a weight slammed into the clawing dead thing.
"We'll be safe in the cave! Just keep going!" Jojen shouted.
They made a pitiful group as they struggled to flee, with Nymeria and Syrio striking, shoving, and slowing down the pursuit. But there was a cost. Blood matted Nymeria's fur, and Syrio was breathing heavily from exertion. Arya recalled the stories from Old Nan – these were wights, the dead who did not rest.
The howl of the wind intensified, and ahead of them stood a figure unlike the ones pursuing them. Tall and lean, it radiated danger. Arya's senses screamed that it was death incarnate. Its blue eyes were burning ice, and its pale, milk-colored flesh had a vibrancy that the wights lacked. The crystalline sword at its side was raised, and it advanced with a mocking smile.
An Other. Those horrid tales of the far north are real!
Syrio raced past Arya before the blue-eyed figure could reach them. His blade shattered in the first flash, and Syrio tumbled, hot blood dripping on the snow from the narrowly avoided lethal sweep. Ravens flew from the mouth of the cave and descended on Syrio's foe. They died in the dozens as they clawed and pecked and distracted the thing. Syrio was up and grabbing at Arya to help get her up the last bit of the snow and into the cave.
The wights were nipping at their heels, and Arya saw Meera go down. Jojen screamed for his sister, but the cold being wielding a sword-shattering blade was free of the ravens and surging forward. Arya threw a dagger, which was deflected out of the air, the metal screeching and splitting apart. She felt bile rise in her throat as one of the wights hooked its claw-like fingers into Meera's eye and the girl screamed in agony, even as another wight used her own spear to stab into her belly.
Arya was pulled along by Syrio. "She is gone, girl – move!"
Ahead of them, three children bearing torches raced out of the cave. Only, they weren't like any child Arya had ever seen. Their skin was like that of a fawn, brown and dappled with white spots. Their eyes looked like a cat's, and they were wearing cloaks of leaves. One gave a cry and lowered their torch to draw a bow. The bow sang, and the arrow shattered just like Arya's dagger.
The other two advanced with torches; one ignited a wight while the other faced the Other. The child-like creature's torch's flame expanded greatly and exploded toward its foe. The Other shielded itself with an arm, and then its blade snaked out in a near decapitation strike. However, the child managed to scramble away, and more arrows were plucked out of the air by that cold sword.
"Into the cave!" the strange child-like creature said in a voice that belied her size – at least it sounded like a "she", the voice high and sweet despite the urgency.
They reached the rocky entrance, with Nymeria joining them. The Other and the weights stopped their pursuit.
"They will not follow – they cannot follow. You are safe here, for now."
Jojen let out a sob and fell to his knees. "This is impossible. Her fate was not to die here. This can't be real. It can't be real. I…"
"I am sorry, but there is little time. You must come with me."
"Who are you?" Arya asked as she caught her breath. Desperate to think about anything – anything other than Meera's horrible demise.
"The First Men named us children," the female child said. "The giants called us woh dak nag gran."
"The Children of the Forest?" Arya exclaimed.
"Yes, now come."
Syrio gently helped Jojen to his feet. Arya checked over Nymeria; the wolf's wounds were many, but all were shallow, and Arya could feel her heartbeat. There was no danger of dying. Arya felt pinpricks at her eyes; her mind could not wander from the truth.
Meera was dead.
***
Eddard felt the weight of duty as he was exchanged for his son. They shared a hug and a few words, and that was all. He had no doubt that Bran would be safe with Myrcella; her reputation for treating prisoners well was important to her. Not that she would be keeping Bran for long. He was still suspicious about the last-minute change of plans, but he understood her reasoning. If the war could end more quickly and without the risk of a likely puppet like Aegon taking the throne, then so be it. He had to trust that the Gods would watch over his son.
Stannis had briefed him on the losses and their current campaign to unite the Vale under Harrold Hardyng. It was a good plan, but one that would be far more difficult to complete once Eddard committed his betrayal. After the brief, he had spoken with the commanders and even received a compliment from Roose Bolton, of all people, on his wise decision. That had made his skin crawl even more. It also concerned him that none of the lords spoke a word against his course of action.
Eddard disliked thinking that the nobles who had sworn to him had so little regard for honor, but he understood their perspective. The North was their home, and winter was at its doorstep. The battles on the Trident, at Harrenhal, in the Stormlands, and at King's Landing had caused immense casualties. Morale was dreadful after so much death, and many longed to see their families.
The day was overcast and gloomy, the weather a match for his mood. The men were prepared, and though they were a little ways from the Bloody Gate, that fortification was outward facing. When Eddard marched his men back down the High Road, there would be no serious impediment.
Eddard took a number of men with him, while the rest were ready to fight if it came to that. He did not wish for it to come to bloodshed, but that decision would be up to Stannis. As he neared the tent, he saw two guards – one from Dragonstone and the other from White Harbor. Entering, he found Stannis and Davos studying a map of the Vale.
"We did not have a chance to speak at length," Stannis began, "but I would hear your thoughts on bringing the Eyrie down. You lived there for a time."
Eddard felt his stomach churn at what he was about to do.
"Stannis, there is no easy way to say this, but I am breaking my oath to you and leaving your service."
Davos looked at him in shock, and Stannis rose from his chair, his jaw clenched tight.
"You are not a man who jests. Nor are you a man who forgets his oaths. Explain yourself."
Eddard sighed. "All were sworn to the Targaryen royal family. The Mad King's actions caused the rebellion, and we broke those oaths."
"And I am to be likened to the Mad King now?"
"No, but the painful point remains – oaths are broken, and sometimes for good cause. I am shamed by what I must do, but I intend to take my vassals and men with me to the North. We will swear allegiance to my nephew and face the threat that he wrote of in his letter."
"Not if I have you hanged as an honorless oath breaker," Stannis growled, baring his teeth with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I've already spoken with my men. It may be a close thing – you have some of the Vale already reinforcing you, and I have not spoken to the Riverlands lord –, but all the North is behind me. Should it come to bloodshed, it would be bitter and your cause without hope in the best-case scenario."
Davos put a restraining hand on his King's arm. "Lord Stark speaks true; you know how limited our manpower is."
"Truly, this is a black day, Stark. I made you my Hand, and now you betray me. When I am done winning my crown, you will be attainted and better stewards of the North will be found to replace you." Stannis seemed to quiver and opened his mouth again to speak, but Eddard spoke over him.
"I have wronged you, yes. Remember my house's words. Winter is Coming. Even at this hour, your niece has sent a message to you. She gives you three choices…"
Stannis interrupted. "Now you serve as her lackey? How far has the noble Lord of Winterfell fallen!"
Eddard pressed on. "She will accept your fealty to Tommen. Should you do so, you will remain Lord of Dragonstone and overlord of the Lords of the Narrow Sea. Alternatively, you can leave these lands and join me in the North. Myrcella has agreed not to cross the Neck until spring has come unless we attack. Thirdly, you may leave Westeros, and she will not have Tommen pursue you with assassins."
The sound of grinding teeth was the only response.
"My message has been delivered; you can respond to her directly. And now for mine. I regret that the circumstances have forced my hand. I will not ask for leniency, but I will also not use your child against you. She is welcome to remain in Winterfell as safe as I can make her, or she can be delivered under guard to a location you desire."
Stannis exhaled forcibly. "Get out, Stark. I will send a raven when I can think." He turned to Davos. "Tell the men not to attack the turncoats. We have a Vale to win before anything else."
Eddard gave Davos and Stannis one last nod before leaving the tent. He did not know what the future would bring, but he was almost certain he would never see Stannis again. Without the North, and likely without the Riverlands, Stannis was the weakest claimant. Even if he could win the Vale entirely, it would not be enough to challenge Tommen's faction or Aegon's. Stannis was too stubborn to face reality, and it would almost certainly cost him his life. Serving him had been right, but it had been frustrating.
May the Gods forgive me; once the wars are done with, I will need to abdicate in favor of Robb. The breaking of such an oath will haunt me for the remainder of my days.
He stepped out of the tent with a heavy heart, each step weighing him down. At the same time, the air felt fresh; he knew he had made the only choice he could. Eddard's thoughts were now directed toward the North, where his wife, son, daughter, and nephew awaited him.
***
"She's accepted then?" Aegon asked with a tinge of excitement in his voice.
Margaery watched her husband; his handsome face was animated as he spoke with his Small Council.
Connington sighed. "She has agreed. The battle will take place on foot, and none who participated in the first Trial of Seven will take part. However, she has some additional stipulations and wants public guarantees to ensure her safety and that of the 10,000 strong army escorting her champions."
Margaery knew that Lord Connington was unhappy with the trial. He believed their position was too advantageous to risk. The problem was that they lacked the means to bring a swift end to the war. While they held King's Landing, moving their forces away in strength could lead to disaster. Ser Barristan, or Lady Myrcella, as Varys warned, had an uncanny ability to thwart stronger armies. The Stormlands were not subdued, though their fighting men were greatly reduced. A rival Targaryen claimant was in the North, and no one knew what the Greyjoys were planning.
Even should we lose, all is not lost. Aegon will be granted Dragonstone, and Tommen is without issue; many events may transpire.
"Good," Aegon replied, "what stipulations?"
"Lady Baratheon wishes all hostilities between our factions to cease until the Trial can take place. She also requests safe passage for men from the Stormlands who may be part of her seven," Connington replied, then stood up, his chair scraping noisily against the stone floor. "But we need not accept this at all. The people of King's Landing will believe what they will, but we can always claim we've accepted and are awaiting Lady Myrcella's arrival while still refusing her."
"Perhaps," Varys spoke softly, "but it appears this 'High Sparrow' is listened to more than our High Septon. The city will riot, should he give the word."
Lord Yronwood scowled. "These are smallfolk; let them riot at the moment of our choosing, and our soldiers will deal with them. They will break against our spears and lose their taste for rebellion. I know you wish your rule to begin on a high note, but being forced into a risky trial by combat when we have the numbers, food, and wealth is the height of folly."
Aegon laughed. "I see my Hand has been speaking with you. No, this matter has already been decided – I would not have sent Lady Baratheon a letter with terms otherwise. I also will not plot to murder the people of this city. The trial will take place; the only question is, who will be our champions?"
Margaery lifted her voice. "I know that my brother Ser Garlan will take part. He is the best sword of the Reach. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk are two of the largest men I have ever seen. They too will be a great boon to our cause. However, I fear my brother, the Lord of Highgarden, has a request in return for their aid."
Her husband looked at her in surprise. "What is it?"
"That the King not participate himself."
Aegon's smile fled his face. His expression grew stony. "Why?"
"Because you are the King. Should you fall, many will not clamor for your cause, especially with our child not yet born."
"I am the King! My good-brother will obey my commands and send whom I tell him to."
Connington cleared his throat loudly. "Remember the lessons I taught you, Your Grace. A man who says he must be obeyed simply due to being a King can enforce the oaths he has received, but it will not begin your reign well. Lord Tyrell is wise in this, and your chosen champions will be at a disadvantage if they focus on defending you over winning the trial."
Aegon scowled and looked around the table. "Are you all of the same mind?"
Nods and murmurs cascaded around the table. Aegon looked down at the table, and then back up.
"Very well, I will not ignore the wisdom of this council."
Margaery breathed a sigh of relief. She did not wish to lose her husband, a dreadful possibility no matter the trial's actual outcome.
"The Reach has provided three – who else then?" Aegon asked.
"Gerold Dayne," Anders Yronwood said. "The Knight of High Hermitage has no equal in Dorne with the sword. Prince Oberyn himself once said that Ser Gerold was his equal in speed. Daemon Sand is his lesser, but only by a hair."
Connington nodded. "I, myself, will take part. I have aged, yes, but I am fit and able as ever."
Aegon drummed his fingers on the table. "That would be six. Ser Walder Yelshire could be a seventh, unless there is another name someone wishes to bring forth?"
"There are some of the Golden Company who may serve. Denys Strong is a veteran of countless battles and is a large man, though his skill is not as impressive as Ser Walder's. In a fight like this, strength and endurance may matter more," Jon said, partially thinking out loud rather than making a genuine suggestion.
"If it is size and skill, write to Prince Doran. Areo Hotah is the captain of his guard, but a mightier warrior of size you will not find. Doran will not mind, and there will be no stipulations attached either."
Margaery's eyes narrowed at the comment, but now would not be the time to address it.
Varys spoke up next, "If we are swift, there are some Essosi options. A veteran of the fighting pits of Meereen that is said to have never lost a single battle."
Connington shook his head. "I dislike that idea. For one, I doubt they follow the Seven. For two, most don't wear armor. Even an average knight can beat a stronger opponent if there is an advantage in protection."
Varys spread his hands. "It was only a thought. As ever, I live to serve the crown and the realm."
Her husband called the meeting to a close. "We have much to think on. I would hear Ser Garlan's thoughts on the matter. He won a swift victory at Duskendale, and his opinion might provide a valuable perspective before making a final choice. Whichever course we take, mine is now set. Prepare the guard – I intend to accept Lady Baratheon's challenge before the Sept of Baelor and swear oaths to guarantee her safety."
Margaery would go with him. The High Sparrow was not the normal type of person she sought to charm, but she was making progress. Nothing so tawdry as using her body, no, her piety and knowledge of the faith was what was aiding her. That, and how she helped care for the hungry. With Aegon accepting the challenge, she would drop hints that it had been her doing.
I've seen my brother practice against multiple foes; few realize just how strong he is. Loras won glory for our house in tournaments, but in a melee, he would always be trounced nearly effortlessly by Garlan. For the trial, I will put my faith in The Gallant.