Robb made a face as the smell of the city hit him. Even though he had fought a battle here, he still had not gotten used to the overpowering stench. The man riding next to him laughed. Bronn was quite skilled with a blade, but Robb had been able to best him in their spars. The Stormguard member was the faster of the two, but not by much – and not enough to earn the win. Despite that, or maybe because of it, the man made it a point to jape around him.
"Not used to the smell yet? Probably the only big city you've ever been around," Bronn commented.
"I've been to White Harbor a few times before the battle of King's Landing," Robb replied.
Bronn snickered. "Aye, that's a city, but nothing compared to King's Landing or some of the cities in Essos. You can find all manner of whore in a real city like this. You never got a chance to experience the delights of the Street of Silk. You ought to make sure you see the more enjoyable side of life before the trial."
Robb frowned at that. He was not going to go to a brothel.
"You should be cautious. They would most like be glad to knife us before the trial and even the odds," he warned.
Bronn snorted, and then Robb began to hear the noise from up ahead. As they drew nearer, the sounds of a roaring crowd could be heard. They were... cheering? Robb saw the entryway to the city gates lined with people. The walls held more, and they were screaming and cheering.
"They are cheering for… us?" Robb asked.
"Hah, not for you, wolf lord. For the Maiden-made-flesh. For the Stormqueen. For the Lady of Storm's End. The Perfect Princess. And probably half a dozen other titles besides," Bronn finished with a laugh.
Robb had known that many loved Lady Baratheon, but this seemed excessive mania. As the group entered the gates, he saw Lord Connington stiffen in irritation. The crowd of people threw petals and leaves as Myrcella crossed. The sound was as intense as the fiercest battle.
"Gods, could you imagine, Stark? One word from her, and the city would tear itself apart."
Robb knew that armed and disciplined soldiers could stand against a mob, even when greatly outnumbered, but it would be ugly. Fortunately, the more intense the city's support for Myrcella, the less likely Aegon would do something unsavory.
Eventually the procession ended at the Red Keep, and in open display before the crowd, bread and salt was given by the King and his Queen. Robb saw Margaery and instantly found that the tales of her beauty were accurate. The gentle swell in her midsection meant that Aegon would soon have an heir as well. They were shown quarters to stay at, and Robb approached Lady Myrcella.
"My lady, in terms of our living quarters, I had a request."
Myrcella looked at him quizzically. "Yes?"
"Grey Wind is still uneasy around Clegane. Can we be quartered in separate ends of these rooms? I don't think there is any risk of a fight, but it would make me feel better if my direwolf were less tense while here in King's Landing."
She nodded. "I'm disappointed that the wolf has not gotten over whatever lingering... effects of Thoros' efforts. But this is something that is beyond your control, so I will make sure suitable arrangements are made. You are free to speak with the other nobles while we wait for the trial, but one Stormguard will always be with you."
"Understood, thank you, Lady Myrcella."
Robb did wish to speak with some of the other nobility. He believed Jon. Regardless of who wore the crown, the truth was that the North faced an enemy truly dangerous on a level not seen in thousands of years. He would, of course, seek to win in the trial, but if the worst should happen, they lost, and Robb fell, he wanted to ensure they heard from him personally that Jon was trustworthy and that the threat in the North was real – not just some plot in the game of thrones.
"Be wary of Varys, and stick with the expectations I have set out. No food or drink except for what we have brought. If you take a flagon with you, make sure it is always on your person. While I doubt they'll attempt to kill you, some poisons can weaken you slightly and lead to a disadvantage in the trial."
Robb nodded. Those were sensible precautions. Bronn, it seemed, would be his Stormguard minder; it was not something he minded. He enjoyed speaking with Ser Barristan; the knight had much wisdom and experience but preferred to be near Myrcella.
It took little time before the first invitation arrived. Robb accepted the page's inquiry and soon found himself in a small dining area with Lord Anders Yronwood and another noble, who, based on his heraldry, was a member of House Allyrion. Grey Wind was back in the quarters provided to him. Bronn remained nearby at the door; since there was only one chair available, it was clear he was not welcome to sit with them.
"Ah, the infamous Robb Stark. I wasn't sure if you would be joining us today. This is my good-son, Ser Ryon Allyrion. We are pleased that you have agreed to dine with us."
Robb nodded his head in greeting. "Save for time by Prince Oberyn's side, I have not had that many opportunities to speak with men from Dorne; I am glad to be able to rectify that. As far as dining – I mean no offense, but as champion of Tommen Baratheon, I will be declining to partake. Conversation is more than enough to sustain me."
Ser Ryon's face clouded over. "Just because we are Dornish does not mean we would poison you."
"Peace, Ryon, he means no slight. This is about Lady Myrcella's poisoning. Let us begin as we intended. We are curious as to why a Stark is involving himself with this trial."
"The price for my freedom and that of my brother Bran's. A deal had been struck with several stipulations, but the end result was peace with the North until the end of the winter, the freedom for all Stark captives, including myself, and in exchange some of our captives were released, and I fight in this Trial of Seven."
Lord Yronwood drank some wine and thought for a moment.
"You were raised with the bastard of Winterfell, the one who now claims to be Jon Targaryen. What do you think the truth of that story to be?"
"I was raised with Jon by Eddard Stark. My father never made clear Jon's parentage, and I know for certain that Jon did not know his lineage until after we had separated. Both my lord father and Jon are honorable and would not lie to the realm about him being the son of Rhaegar," Robb spoke confidently. "And they would not lie about the threats north of the Wall. Something has the Night's Watch panicked and terrified. The Others are real."
Robb took it as a good sign that Anders did not scoff or make light of the threat.
"If you should prove victorious, will the Lannisters and the Baratheons make common cause with the North against this foe?"
He gave a slight shrug. "Myrcella, I mean, Lady Myrcella, is someone with a keen eye and possesses obvious wisdom. She has sent some of her Stormguard to investigate these claims, and once she has proof of the danger, she will act for the good of the realm. If we should lose, I believe Lady Myrcella will attempt to convince Aegon of the same."
Robb found himself speaking about what kind of person Jon was for quite some time. Ser Ryon peppered him with questions about fighting by Prince Oberyn's side and then inquired whether his father had decided on a match for him. Robb suspected he would not wed until after the war. All in all, he thought the discussion was a success.
***
I was impressed by how well the Sparrows had rallied the city. Connington had not been pleased to see the massive turnout and the adulation of the crowds upon my entrance. I was still deeply uneasy with the use of the people's religious fervor, but a tool was a tool, no matter how distasteful. And unlike the Type-95, this didn't have deleterious effects on my mental state.
My men seen to, it was time to meet the would-be King and Queen of Westeros in a more personal setting than our brief encounter during the guest right ritual. Connington himself did a cursory search of my person, then left the room and had four women conduct a more thorough search. It wasn't a prison cavity search, but I had been asked to strip completely. It might have been done to humble me, but I resented the time wasted more than anything else.
Ironically, the legendary knight who headed my bodyguards had to do no more than give up his sword and belt knife. A reputation for honor spanning half a century was useful. We were shown into a room where three knights in steel and white hovered near Aegon and Margaery. Our chairs were set a good fifteen feet from the royal pair, with Connington standing to the side, forming a quasi-triangle.
"Forgive us these precautions, but our Master of Whisperers believes you a threat to my person," Aegon spoke with some chagrin in his voice.
"I have always treated with my enemies within the bounds of honor and custom. The same cannot be said for the likes of Varys. I speak plainly when I say he is responsible for my poisoning, and he is not to be trusted. Perhaps he is loyal to you, and you would make use of his talents for poison, deceit, and nefarious deeds, but I would not sleep well at night knowing someone like him roams free." I looked Aegon in the eye as I spoke, meaning every word. There was no dissembling here; Varys was dangerous.
"The man saved my life, had me taken from this city before your grandfather murdered my mother and sister. Unless there is proof of this accusation, I will not hear of it," Aegon said with a note of controlled anger.
Did he actually believe that absurd story? None of it made any sense. It didn't matter anyhow at this juncture. There was no point in antagonizing him. If we won the trial, Varys would be dead that very night – unless he ran. If we lost, it would be better to remain in the good graces of the new King.
"It can be hard to believe the worst of someone who has presented a loyal face, but I sense there will be no headway in this discussion, so I will drop the matter, Aegon."
"His Grace," Connington said.
"That is what the trial will determine, Lord Connington," I reminded him.
"We need not stand on courtesies here," Aegon said in a mild tone.
"Feel free to call me Myrcella, and I will call you Aegon and Margaery; with either result of the trial, we shall be close allies moving forward." I smiled at the pair.
The two exchanged glances and then nodded. Margaery stood up.
"I, for one, find these little precautions absurd. I have no fear you will harm me, and I simply must get a closer look at you," she said as she approached.
"Your Grace," Connington began as he moved to cut off her approach, "you know I don't put too much stock in those queer rumors, but if even a tenth of what Lord Varys has said is accurate…"
"Ah, my gallant protector, I know you only wish to safeguard my person and the realm's heir, but this is my royal command. Allow me to pass."
I saw Connington's subtle look to Aegon and his slight nod in response. The Lord Commander of Aegon's Kingsguard moved aside but stayed close by as Margaery moved to hug me. Noble ladies did do these sorts of things with family and close friends, but it was quite rare for a Queen to do so. We weren't at court, and this wasn't technically a violation of courtesy, but it was odd.
She was a pretty girl, and her flowery scent was mild and not overpowering. As we broke the hug, she smiled at me, her large brown eyes meeting mine. "There are few of our station in the land, Myrcella, and I would simply adore getting to know you better and becoming friends. You must tell me which of the stories are true and which are the result of overeager storytellers' exaggeration."
Oh, she's good.
I was impressed. My cynical mind couldn't help but wonder if this had all been some sort of Machiavellian attempt on her part – Connington's suspicion, the theoretically humiliating search and disrobing, and then her reaching out in friendship despite her Kingsguard's objections. My read on Aegon and Connington was that they didn't think like that, so perhaps Margaery had learned of what happened and adjusted rather than planning ahead. Either she was an impressive schemer, or she had a naturally agile mind for this sort of thing.
"We will, of course, make time for that. Some events will be difficult for me to share, as I'm sure you understand. I would also love to hear more about Highgarden. I regret never being able to visit before my father was assassinated," I replied sweetly.
I watched carefully as her expression showed sympathy. No wince or recoil from the topic of the brutal murder of my father. My esteem for her rose another notch.
I do hope Aegon does not go back on his word. I would hate to have to kill him and his wife if they betray me after my side wins the trial.
The thought didn't trouble me as much as it would have in the past. I recognized in Margaery someone with exceptional social skill and obvious beauty. If Aegon betrayed me after the Trial of Seven, he would die and, in those circumstances, I could not allow his wife to give birth to a potential heir. She would have to be done away with as well.
Margaery returned to her seat and gave her husband a chaste kiss on the cheek.
"I am curious," Aegon began, "do you have any fresh news of the Ironborn? Have they remained loyal to Stannis?"
I shook my head. "No, there has been no word from Pyke."
Aegon glanced at Connington and then sighed. "The Reach is currently under attack by the Ironborn. It is an oddity in my eyes. They dislike the North, and they would be the last ones I would have assumed to keep to their oaths of fealty to Stannis of all people. I doubt they would side with you, not with Tywin's enmity. What could they be thinking?"
Of all the cultural groups in Westeros, the Ironborn were probably my least favored. The Wildlings might be just as bad, but with the Wall keeping them penned in the North, it was a moot point. The people of the Iron Isles practiced a form of slavery with their thralls and had abominable practices, such as the claiming of 'salt wives.' Some cultures were compatible with civilization, while others were not; the Ironborn were clearly of the latter persuasion.
"The Ironborn are not the most rational of people. Balon Greyjoy's rebellion against my father had no hope of success, and yet he did it. They are mercurial at the best of times, and when the war is over, whoever wins will have to exact a price for their actions." I moved my gaze to Margaery. "I thanked your brother earlier today; from what I've been told, he did his best to limit their excesses in the Westerlands."
"Garlan the Gallant, my brother, has always done what he can to uphold the ideals of knighthood. Would that all knights did so," Margaery said with a wistful look.
We spoke for a time about the details of the Trial of Seven. It would be held in the tourney grounds where Brienne had earned the moniker "Terror of Tarth." Lords, knights, and a great deal of the smallfolk would be watching. The more public, the better, so I had no objections. A few other bits of discussion occurred on the state of the city and how the people were recovering from the damage of the fighting before Aegon finally asked the question he seemed to have been wanting to pose.
"How did you survive the Moon Door? Some are saying you were saved by the Seven, while others claim it was a body double. Will you tell us?" he asked eagerly as he leaned forward.
I grinned. "Well, you see…"
***
Eddard had ridden hard for Winterfell. In part, it was his eagerness to be reunited with his family, but the other part was worry over what was happening. He had pledged his loyalty to his son, though by blood they were nephew and uncle. Yet, the boy, now King, would always be his son in his heart. What was needed now was an understanding of what was going to happen next. Word had reached him that Melisandre was advising Jon, and the implications of that were terrifying.
Seeing the Targaryen banner flapping in the wind next to the Stark direwolf was an odd sight for him. More than anything, though, he was happy to be back in the North. It had been nearly two years since Robert had guested in Winterfell, well before all this madness had begun. So many were dead: Robert, Renly, Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Cayn, Donnis, Harwin, and countless others. He was glad his captain of the guard had made it through all the battles with only minor wounds.
Jory noticed his glance. "My lord?"
"Nothing, Jory. Just thinking of those we have lost."
"Aye, my lord. It will be good to see Uncle Rodrick. No doubt he'll grouse over missing all the fighting."
Eddard gave him a sad smile. "He may say it, but he won't mean it. He's too wise to think war as something to be enjoyed."
A small group of people were there to meet him, among them his wife and his son Rickon. Eddard was off his horse, and some of the dignity of his station faded as he and Catelyn embraced. Tears filled her eyes.
"Oh, Ned, oh, Ned. I was so worried."
"I know, I know. I'm back now."
He withdrew from the embrace only because his youngest wanted attention too. The lad was nearing seven, and Eddard groaned slightly as he lifted his son into the air, rewarded by the sound of pleasant laughter. When was the last time he had heard children laughing?
It was a balm to his soul, but it was only temporary as Catelyn caught him up with what was going on. Grim news. His daughter, Arya, had gone off with the Reed children north of the wall. He suspected Melisandre's hand in this at first, but Catelyn quickly clarified that Arya had left before Melisandre's arrival.
"You must be careful, Ned. Melisandre has filled Jon's head with dreams of glory and power. The woman sleeps in his chambers! A young man's desires oft trump his good sense."
Eddard's face hardened at that. Melisandre was a venomous creature who led good men to ruin. His need to speak with Jon about her was urgent, but Catelyn had also shared troubling news from the Wall. The wildlings had made their move, advancing with all their strength. The scouts had found no sign of Arya, but they had seen a sheer number that beggared the imagination. Over 100,000, though some were greybeards, women, and children.
But even their women fight.
Catelyn led him to the main hall, where Eddard saw Jon seated upon a chair used as a makeshift throne. Melisandre was to his right, and a rotund brother of the Night's watch was on his left. Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin were also there.
Catelyn had explained the importance of appearance and formality. Eddard would swear his vows first. He knelt before the man he also considered his son and swore the oaths of fealty, lord to King. It was a formality, as Eddard had already put his words to paper, but an important tradition nonetheless.
"Rise, Lord Stark," Jon said, and the hall cheered.
"Your Grace," Eddard said, "there is much to speak of. May we retire quietly to the solar?"
Jon nodded gravely and gave Melisandre a meaningful look before she could object.
Only Eddard, his wife, and Jon remained in the room. There, Jon took Eddard in an embrace.
"Father… I suppose I should say uncle now – I have missed you," Jon said, voice trembling slightly.
"And I you, Jon. For many years I had wanted to tell you, but the best way to keep a secret is to tell no one. Only myself and Howland Reed knew, and that was safest."
"What is done is done," Jon said simply. "I have some regret over what happened, but I've learned that I had it better than most. You kept your promise to my mother. I was safe and raised well. Now I must turn to the future," he continued, his voice steady and firm.
He has grown up.
"Good, then we must speak of Melisandre. She cannot be trusted. She has done terrible things and led Stannis to believe he was a chosen savior, this Azor Ahai reborn. I suspect she's told you similar things."
Jon flushed and looked down. "She has, and I have my doubts about her, but she does have power, and she did predict the coming of the enemy. Without her aid, I and my brothers in the Night's Watch would have been slain by the Others. I've talked to Sam, you saw him in the hall, and he thinks she does see the future, but only a possible future, not the future. We need her."
Cat stirred beside him. "Is your mind or your manhood speaking? I regret to be so forward, but she shares your chambers at night. Many seasoned men lose their wits when a beautiful woman is about, and you are not yet seasoned."
Jon gave her an angry look. "Nothing has happened between us! She worries over an assassination attempt on my life."
"And she can defend you?" Cat said incredulously.
"I saw her wield fire against the Others. She has power, and more than just prophecy. The control she has of the flames is the only magical aid we have against the Others and what they can do."
Eddard frowned. "What can they do?"
Jon shared the story of the battle at the Fist of the First Men. How fire was what killed the wights, but it was only Valyrian steel that had slain the Others. Jon talked of the rising cold wind, the flames flickering away until Melisandre acted.
"Gods, to think that the dead could rise and march… this must be what our ancestor, Brandon the Builder, has erected the Wall for," Eddard said in awe. "As to Melisandre, Jon, I don't trust her. She abandoned Stannis, and if she believes she was wrong about you, she will abandon you as well. Melisandre used foul sorcery to try to assassinate her foes, and regularly requested people be burned alive."
"I know, but like fire itself, she can help and hurt. I trust she is opposed to the Others. Whatever else may be true, that is clear. And so long as she does not disobey me, I will not send her from my side," Jon said firmly.
Eddard looked him in the eye, and then nodded his head. "You have grown into the crown. Ultimately, you make the decisions. I would ask, if Melisandre suggests something, make sure she explains why and then consult with others."
"I can do that," Jon replied. "And such a decision is upon us. The wildlings have moved in numbers. The Wall is undermanned, and we cannot cover it all. Some wildlings, they can climb over it; they need only bring a small percentage to undermine our fortifications. Melisandre advises only death and destruction will be found on the Wall and that she's seen in the flames the dead assaulting Winterfell. She advises I go south and rally men to me."
Eddard grew chilled at that thought. The Wall was the greatest fortification ever built. If it could not withstand an assault, what hope could Winterfell have?
"The south teeters between Aegon and Tommen. Should Myrcella's knights win the Trial of Seven, I believe she will aid the North against the Others. Going south now will do little but sap our strength. My lords are loyal, but even they have limits. Warring in the south as Winter descends and their homes are in danger? It is too much," Eddard said sadly.
Jon nodded. "If you say it cannot be done, then I believe you. It never sat right with me to abandon my brothers in the face of such danger. You have brought ample men to help guard the Wall and the mounts to take us there. I'll order most of the foot you left to travel north as well."
"And," Cat began, "if possible, find Arya, or if she has fallen, return her bones to Winterfell."
"I promise you, Lady Catelyn, I will find her."
***
Tyrion was met at the gates, both by Gold Cloaks and some of Myrcella's men.
"Tyrion Lannister, you are to take Rolland Storm and any other fighters who are up for consideration to be part of the seven and head to the Red Keep. Lodgings for the fighters have been arranged in the partially reconstructed area."
Tyrion nodded at the man in Baratheon livery and took Roland and two other skilled warriors toward the Red Keep under escort. The damage to the city was being swiftly repaired, and the work appeared to be progressing at an accelerated pace.
Shortly after entering the Red Keep, Tyrion spotted his niece and two knights by her side. There was minimal adornment to those knights, and while they stood relatively still, their heads were constantly in motion as if expecting an attack at any moment.
"Ah, Uncle Tyrion, forgive me for not meeting you at the gates, but I didn't want to cause a clamor in the streets – again."
Tyrion grinned and moved forward to embrace her. The girl had grown a bit; it had been over a year since he had last seen her. Her hair was a bit shorter, and her attire was interesting – clearly militaristic in nature. No dresses for her, it seemed. She also had an air of authority that belied her age.
"It is good to see you as well, Myrcella," Tyrion said after their embrace had finished.
"I am sorry for the loss of your siblings. I will not apologize for what had to be done regarding your sister, but I will understand if you mourn," Myrcella said gently.
Tyrion blinked. He hadn't even thought about that. He had done his grieving for Jaime. It was still a jagged hole in his heart that he flinched to think of, but it had been some time. For Cersei, he cared not one whit. She was his blood, but attempting to poison her own daughter had destroyed any familial loyalty he may have once had for her.
"I don't blame you at all – she deserved it. But you have my thanks for Jaime. I know you and he weren't particularly close, but he was proud of you."
"A proud uncle, yes, that he was. He is missed dearly; when the war is complete, we will need to rebuild the Kingsguard," she replied.
"Hah, I don't intend to join, but I'll train the lot of them up as needed," Rolland Storm interjected into the conversation.
Tyrion sighed. "And my rude companion here is Ser Rolland Storm, a man who boasts almost as well as he can fight."
The big man snorted. "I'm to be part of the Seven; my deeds speak for themselves."
"We are glad to have you, Ser Rolland. We've set aside one of the larger quarters as a sort of practice yard. We are avoiding any spars in the open where our hosts can observe," Myrcella said, eyeing him. "Since you are one of Tommen's champions, no food or drink will be taken that doesn't come from stores we provide. I won't have you subtly weakened by some mild poison during the trial."
Rolland grunted. "Gods, I didn't even think of such a scheme. Well, at least some of the Imp's boasting of you is justified."
Tyrion coughed. "Our good Ser Rolland here thinks your reputation may be somewhat inflated."
"My reputation?" Myrcella asked innocently, with a gleam in her eye. "I assure you, I am the very model of a perfect princess; there is no courtesy or court tradition that I am unaware of."
Tyrion gave his niece a look and sighed. "Well this prohibition against feasting and drinking doesn't apply to me, so I'll get started on just that."
"Brienne, go with my uncle. Make sure he stays out of trouble," Myrcella commanded.
One of the knights stepped to Tyrion's side.
"I didn't recognize you with your visor down," he commented.
She lifted her visor. "I was on duty; while protecting Myrcella, we are kitted out in full battle attire. Only when our voices are needed for social duties or tasks do we remove our helms or lift our visors."
"That seems… excessive."
"The Stormguard have higher standards than the Kingsguard," Brienne simply replied.
Nothing mirthful comes to mind as a rejoinder. The journey has been exhausting; a drink, a whore or two, and some rest, and I'll be of much more use in the morning.
***
Arya was first to the table in the portion of the cave network where they regularly ate in the morning. Jojen and Syrio were still in their own rooms, but Arya had woken from a nightmare early. She sighed as she looked at the unappealing meal before her and began to eat. Nymeria stayed close by. When Leaf saw them awake, she brought in a bowl with food for the direwolf as well, who took one sniff and growled.
"What's the matter?" Arya asked.
Nymeria continued to growl at Leaf, who backed away.
"Time runs short, Arya. Today you will have the veil lifted from your eyes and understand what the trees do. Your wolf will not like the magic we will use today, and her reaction may be violent. In her bowl is something that will make her sleep for a day."
Arya was pensive at the news.
"I don't like this. How is this even going to help? Jojen never gave me a straight answer, and neither did Lord Brynden. I don't want him to die."
Leaf looked at Arya with her strange, unreadable, cat-like eyes.
"Time grows short. The protections over this cave will soon fall."
"What? Why?" Arya cried out in concern. She shivered as she thought of how Meera had died.
"The last greenseer has seen it. The magical protections built upon Brandon the Builder's works are all connected. When one falls, so do the others. It shouldn't be possible for any to fall, as they strengthen each other, but such things are beyond me. We do not construct as men do." Leaf spoke in a voice that was meant to be soothing, but it sounded alien to Arya's ear.
Nymeria's growl grew louder, and she advanced on Leaf.
"Nymeria, no! Return here!" Arya commanded.
The wolf looked at her, gave a whine, and nodded toward Leaf before advancing again. Arya felt Nymeria's rage and despair through their bond and didn't know what to do.
"Slip into her skin and eat the meat, Arya."
The only reason they were alive was because of this cave. She needed to trust the old, corpse-like man and the Children of the Forest. Using her warg powers had become second nature, and she slipped into Nymeria and took control. She wandered over to the bowl and quickly ate the food in the dish.
When she felt drowsiness begin to overtake her, she returned to her own body. Nymeria gave her a look of despair and tried to howl – it was aborted as she collapsed onto the cave floor.
"My thanks," Leaf simply said.
Leaf and two other Children of the Forest lifted Nymeria and took her to Arya's room. She followed them and pet her companion; though the wolf was clearly asleep, it did make her feel a little better.
Syrio and Jojen were out of their rooms when they returned to the communal area.
"What is wrong?" Syrio asked.
"Why do you think something is wrong?" Leaf asked.
"A man has eyes. A girl speaks of fear and sorrow with the way she moves," Syrio replied.
"We are going to do magic. I'm going to learn how to understand the trees," Ayra said with a note of skepticism in her voice.
Syrio looked to Jojen and Leaf and then back to Arya. "Does a girl wish to proceed? This doing of magic on this day seems more perilous in the eyes of these." Syrio gestured toward Jojen, or maybe Leaf, Ary couldn't be sure.
Fear cuts deeper than swords. I just need to face this; it is why I am here after all.
"I don't want to, but I must, and I will. It is not my safety that I worry about." Her eyes drifted to Jojen.
Syrio slowly nodded. "I will be practicing the dance, should you need me."
With no further need for delay, Arya followed Jojen and Leaf to her teacher of skinchanging. He was attached to the tree, like he always was. She knew that he only lived because of the tree that was embedded in him. It was a grim and disturbing life, yet his ability to use his warg powers gave him freedom that many would find worth the trade. Arya herself had experienced flying, and it was marvelous.
"Arya Stark," the dry, dusty voice spoke, "you have experienced the sensation of inhibiting Jojen's body. Now you will experience it with me. You will be exposed to the knowledge of centuries, exposed to the entire web of weirwoods from across Westeros. This will be distressing, and you must be fortified with the blood of one with the greensight."
Arya had dreaded this moment. "Will this kill him?"
"It should not, though he will be weak for some time."
Leaf took a knife of obsidian and cut along her arm, allowing a bowl to collect the blood. Arya took a deep breath as it was handed to her. This felt wrong. Every instinct in her body screamed not to do this. Yet she would endure it if it could save her family. The thought that it wouldn't cost Jojen his life made it more palatable to her.
"Good. Now I will slip my skin, and you will slip into mine," Lord Brynden said softly.
Arya felt the change in Brynden and saw his nearly decayed body relax a fraction. She used her abilities and entered his body. Instantly, she felt weak and listless. It was a tremendous effort to even open the lid of the one eye he had remaining. Arya let out a groan which grew louder but remained soft as she saw Leaf jam the dagger through Jojen's heart.
She then saw her own body rise from the ground.
"I apologize, Arya Stark, but you were not the heir I sought. With so many changes in what I have seen, I must take matters into my own hand, or I fear the enemy shall prevail."
Arya looked at him in horror. This couldn't be happening. Jojen couldn't be dead!
I won't let him take my body either! He told me that those of strong will could resist someone else using their warg abilities to take their bodies. I just need to slip this skin and…
She wanted to cry, but this body couldn't produce tears. She couldn't slip the skin she was in.
"Ah, so quick. There is so much I do not know, so much I have merely theorized and never had the opportunity to test. I cannot merely kill you and seize your body for fear the body would wilt after you are amongst the dead. You see, young Stark, this is the first time anyone has ever attempted such a feat. Trapping another soul in their own body, whilst taking theirs. Jojen's death was the necessary blood price to prevent you from slipping my skin."
"You…" Arya had difficulty forming words in a mouth so deformed by age and ailment.
"Like most magic, it cannot stop you permanently, but you Starks are unlike other skinchangers. Your magic derives from your wolves, and once the wolf is gone, so too are most of your abilities."
No! Nymeria! That is why she refused to eat. I should have trusted her instincts. No, no, NO!"
She tried to stir her current body. Maybe she could forcefully detach herself from the weirwood tree. She tried and used every ounce of energy she could. But it wasn't enough.
The roots nearby moved, and from their depths rose a blade. Arya saw the body thief take the rippling blade by the hilt.
"Ah, my old friend. It feels good to hold you again."
"But… the… cave… it…"
"My ally was not deceiving you. The works of Brandon the Builder, which should have withstood the test of time, are about to become undone. The protections around the cave were built upon their foundation and shall fall alongside them. You, however, shall be safely guarded. The roots run deep, and the flesh of this cavern may be concealed deeper within the earth," Brynden spoke conversationally, despite the abject horror of his recent deed. "One of the few advantages of the body you now inhabit is that it does not require air to subsist. I'm afraid your view will be blocked by dirt, but it shall be but a matter of another eighty years ere your original body succumbs to age. Rest well, Arya."
She felt the tree slowly start to sink into the earth. She saw her body turn away, and she attempted to slip her skin once more. She tried once more to move the corpse-like body she inhabited. She tried and tried and tried once more, even long after the dirt had covered her leaving her utterly alone.