7,455Sorry for the delay on this, I've been very busy and (obviously) quite stressed, plus a) our cockapoo has not been well and b) our newest cat has not been getting on well with our second youngest cat and there have been times when I've felt like I need a blue helmet with the letters UN on the front. Cockapoo is doing better now and an uneasy truce has been declared, with the occasional bout of flailing at the air in front of each cat without actually connecting.
Theon
He did not remember what he dreamt of that night, but whatever the dream was, it made him awake in a hurry, covered in sweat. Jagged memories of the dream clashed in his head for a moment, but then they faded. He looked down at the weirwood pendant around his neck that never left him these days. There were times when he wondered if the Drowned God was still looking for him, kept at bay by the Old Gods.
He'd discussed it quietly with Asha, who had told him everything about the room at High Harlaw that Nuncle Rodrik had found, along with his new wife, everything about the glowing runes and what they had said. He'd already heard the tale in the letters that he'd exchanged with his Nuncle, but it was the way that Asha told the tale that stuck in the mind. The look in her eyes as she talked about the runes and the tale that they told…
Sleep was impossible after that and he called for hot water, sponged the sweat off and then went for a walk on the battlements with Mist, looking down every now and then at the fog on the barrows as the Sun rose in the West. It still made him shiver to think that it literally the spirits of the long-dead.
"You couldn't sleep either?" Asha was standing to one side, looking a bit bleary-eyed. She joined him at the battlements and stared out at the mist as well. "Takes me aback just seeing that stuff out there."
He nodded sombrely. "The dead of the North. The ancient dead." Mist looked up at him with what almost looked like worry on his face. And then Theon shivered a little. "Come on. Lord Stark will be leaving soon."
Until his dying day he remembered the moment that the dark-haired, grey-eyed Lord of the North came into view, his cloak billowing a little as he walked and the Fist of Winter at his hip. There were others there at the gate, Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Dustins (who seemed to be doing an odd dance around each other, obviously uneasy but darting odd little looks at each other) and Ygritte. He nodded at Lord Stark, getting a small smile and a nod in response, and then the Lord of the North was gone, striding off through the gates and past the almost silent crowds of people who made a path for him as he went.
The little knot of people by the gate loitered for a while, muttering about what might happen next, and then headed up to the walls again, although Ygritte stayed at the bottom and seemed to be looking for someone. Ah. Where was Jon? Had he said goodbye to his father inside? He shrugged mentally and then headed up to the wall, following Asha.
And it was there that he caught sight of the two figures, plus direwolves, that strode out of the main gates of Barrowtown and headed towards the fog. Jon. It could only be Jon. He frowned for a moment as some of the others muttered their puzzlement and then he sighed. "It's Jon with him. Jon Stark."
"You what?" The words came from Ygritte, who had frozen in place on the stairs up to the wall. "Jon's where?" She hared up the remaining stairs and peered out. When she saw the figures vanish into the fog, without the direwolves who stayed outside, she made an inarticulate noise of high emotion, part rage, part… well, something that Theon couldn't identify. "I'll kill him," the Wildling finally said eventually. "I'll go down there, drag him out of that mist and tell him he's an idiot and then I'll kill him."
"You'll not." Theon said the words firmly. "He's the only one of us that could help Lord Stark."
Everyone stared at him and he flushed a little. "Only a Stark can wield the Fist. Jon's the only one of us who could pick the Fist and use it at the Oathstone if something happens to Lord Stark in that mist. They're blood. It's as simple as that."
Stannis Baratheon pulled a slight face and then nodded, whilst Ygritte almost vibrated with indecision. It was Asha who took pity on her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Once he comes back out you two need to talk. Use a bedroom. You might need to use short words. But tell him how you feel."
Ygritte went bright red as her lips thinned, before making a gallant effort at scoffing. She fooled no-one on the wall, as even Barbrey Dustin raised her eyebrows and then shook her head a little in amusement. But then the Wildling licked her lips, hung her head and rejoined them at the wall as they all returned to staring out at the mist.
It was Mist who seemed to feel… something… first. He wuffed in an almost puzzled manner, stretched up to place his paws on the lowest part of the wall and then let out a half-howl, half moan of distress. Then looked at him, puzzled – and then Stannis Baratheon let out an oath. "What in the name of all the Gods is that?"
Theon stared at where the Hand of the King was looking – and then he saw the mist ripple and tear as something huge seemed to rear up just beneath the surface. Theon thought he saw spikes of some sort on a very bony spine and he shivered.
He wasn't the only one. Barbrey Dustin took a step bac and then seemed to move a little slower to Brandon Dustin, who was as grim faced as Theon felt.
"What the fuck was that?" Ygritte almost whispered. "I've… I've never seen anything like that!"
Brandon Dustin had turned very pale. "Who know what has awakened out there? There were battles against the Others and the things that they created. If some of those spirits – those of the things that the First Men fought against – have awakened…" He stopped speaking, suddenly dumb with horror and his knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists.
A tense silence fell, as Ygritte looked from face to face. "Well? Why aren't we helping them?"
"We can't." Theon said heavily. "They're too deep into the fog. We'd never find them. And we don't have anything that could harm whatever that was. And-" He was interrupted by a far-off but still horrible roaring sound that was utterly unearthly and which silenced Barrowtown utterly.
Afterwards he could never remember how long they all stood there, frozen with tension and worry. The fog billowed again and again with the passage of the… whatever the Hells it was. Something huge and horrible and…
It was Stannis Baratheon who said what he was fearing. "It's hunting them."
On and on the waiting stretched out, as they watched the fog. Asha's nostrils were flared with tension and Ygritte had a wild look to her eyes. There was a faint noise of distress to one side and Theon looked over to see a red faced Barbrey Dustin remove a hand from the arm of her late husband's cousin, as she had obviously been clutching it too hard. "Your pardon," she said in s small and trembling voice. "If Ned Stark dies out there, then the North will remember me in a way that will be… most ill."
The waiting stretched on – and then the head of something from his darkest nightmares once again reared out of the fog. It had a lot of teeth and it made a roaring noise that made him shiver again.
He winced at it, wondering what was going on in the midst of that damn fog – and then something happened. The fog seemed to shiver and freeze in place for a moment. And then a shaft of golden light punched its way out of the fog and speared up into the sky, almost too bright to look at. Everyone flinched away a little from it as they raised their hands against their eyes, but then the light faded. There was a long moment of silence, before they all felt the first caress of a wind from the West, not hard but persistent and with every puff the fog started to fade from sight. They watched almost uncomprehending, until finally Theon grinned and punched the air with his fist. "They did it!"
But some of those around him seemed more uncertain about that, until the fog faded completely and a pair of distant figures limped into sight, one helping the other and both swiftly joined by direwolves.
They did not lack for help after that. The people of Barrowtown surged out, with horses for the two to ride, and the cheers shook the skies above them. Theon joined the others as they pattered down the stairs and then waited by the gates, amused by the muttered comments from Ygritte about just how she was going to kill Jon bloody Stark. Her voice was wobbling about like a child's top.
As the Starks rode in through the gates, flanked by guards in Dustin colours who had acted as an honour guard, Theon hissed a little as he looked at them. Both were battered and had cuts and dried blood on them and Stannis Baratheon at once roared for help for them. There might not have been a Maester at Barrowhall, but there were those who could tend to wounds and hot water, clean cloths and bandages were soon brought out as the two Starks were tended to.
And it was then that Ygritte literally loomed over Jon and prodded him in the shoulder. "What the hell were you thinking, Jon Stark? Going out there without letting me know!"
"I had to help Father," Jon said with an air of quiet authority. "If he fell I was the only one who could wield the Fist at the Oathstone."
This was both true and something that seemed to absolutely enrage Ygritte, who spluttered incoherently and then jabbed at him again with the same finger. Jon just stared into her eyes levelly. "I had to help Father."
Ygritte stopped poking at him. "You should have told me."
"Why?"
"I could… I could have…"
"Done what? Waited with the Direwolves?"
This provoked more splutterings – and then Asha nudged at her with an elbow and gave her a look so pointed that it could have been used as an arrow. The wildling girl went white as a sheet and then red – and then she leant down, kissed Jon with an urgent fierceness, slapped him around the face and then stalked off, leaving a flabbergasted Jon looking extremely confused.
For some reason Asha looked smug. "They'll do very well together," she whispered to Theon. "Gods know what the children will be like though."
Ned Stark obviously thought the same thing, but was talking quietly to the others and Theon drifted over.
"We had help at the Oathstone, help you need to hear about," Lord Stark told Stannis Baratheon and the Dustins. "Willam was there, Lady Dustin."
Barbrey Dustin went even whiter than Asha had, her hands going to her chest. "Will… Willam? He was there? I mean here?"
"An echo of him. Or so he called himself. He said that he was there because Barrowtown was in peril. He told me to place my hand on the Oathstone. I did, holding the Fist, and told the dead to sleep. They did."
"That light…" Brandon Dustin said with a look of astonishment on his face. "It came from the Oathstone?"
"It did. And the dead faded from sight, Willam too. And… and the spirits of the Others that were in mist. We battled our way there. And there were… other things that I think that the Others made. Things of sinew and bone. Terrible things. But we made it."
"Aye," Lady Dustin muttered. Then she pulled a slight face. "Did… did Willam say anything?"
Lord Stark nodded. "He did. He told you to live. That it saddened him to see you so bitter. And then he was gone, along with the other spirit that was there." He paused and scratched his head a little in bemusement, obviously trying not to look at Lady Dustin, who was visibly struggling with her emotions. "He said that he was my ancestor and he built a lot of things. I think he must have been Bran the Builder. I didn't know that he was connected to here."
"There might be something in the books," Brandon Dustin muttered, also not looking at Lady Dustin. "I, I mean we, erm, can check."
"The fog is gone," Lord Stark said seriously. "The Old Gods willing it will never come back, not until the Call is sent out again – and we will all be long dead by then, with luck. And now we know what the Others might still have North of the Wall. So – we must be about this work of ours."
There was a long moment of strained silence. And then they went about it.
Jon Arryn
It really did give him the willies, watching people stride on and off the ships moored at the heavily guarded area of the docks. Given what the holds of those ships now carried… He shivered a little and then watched as two people in particular walk off the closest vessel. Prince Oberyn Martel and Ser Davos Seaworth were talking in low, intent but as they drew closer he could hear that they were both content. They were also looking down at something in Seaworth's hand.
"Is all well?"
The two looked up at him and then nodded simultaneously. "As well as it can be," Oberyn Martell sighed. "We've solved the problem of keeping the barrels in place. Sand at the bottom, sheepskins around the barrels and then there's the wooden panels on top of them. The thought of nails being used is terrifying, so instead we will use these." And with that he held out a long nail-like object. He took it and stared at it. There was a spiral flange along its' length.
"A screw-augur," Ser Davos said quietly. "Something the Street of Steel is making in great numbers."
"At his direction," the Dornishman said with a smile. "It was his idea. And as King's Landing wants these ships out of this harbour as fast as possible, the Street of Steel is making these things for almost nothing. Tricky to make, some of them go one way and some go the other, but they're making them as fast as we need them. We're ready, My Lord and ser. We're ready. We can add the powders to the barrels tomorrow, screw the lids in place, do the same with the panels and then sail on the first tide."
"It'll be good to have the ships out of here. You both intend to sail with them?"
"We are," Seaworth rumbled. "I've assembled a good set of crewmen for the ships. They're being paid well enough for it and if they never return then their families will be paid a pension. They're willing to risk being blown to smithereens. And aye, they've all been questioned after the incident with that mad Septon."
Jon felt his scalp crawl a bit. "What incident?"
The other two men exchanged wry glances. "Oh," said Oberyn Martell, "He was a most earnest and plausible and in no way, erm, stinky fellow who tried to get on board one of the ships, explaining to the guards that as King's Landing was filled with heathens and corruption and as fire cleansed – and Wildfire really cleansed – it was his sacred duty to ignite the barrels and purge the city of all but the true believers."
"He was told to bugger off," Ser Davos said bluntly. "I was going to have him arrested, but apparently he announced that the Seven were with him and would allow him to walk across the Narrow Sea to Andalos where he would be granted great favour by the New Gods. He was last seen floating face-down in Blackwater Bay as the tide took him out."
Jon pursed his lips a little as he absorbed this information. "Oh woe."
The other two men laughed a little and then they all turned and walked off towards the horses that were waiting with attendants to one side. But just before they got to them a pair of men stepped towards them, one a Goldcloak and the other a man in rather weatherbeaten clothing. The Goldcloak raised a hand to Ser Davos and they had a quick and muttered conversation before the Onion Knight – he really needed a better name – cleared his throat and turned to Oberyn Martell.
"Prince Oberyn, this man has a message for you from the North."
Oberyn Martell raised a languid eyebrow at the man, who bowed and then pulled a thick package bound in oilskin out from under his cloak. "My Prince," he said in the accent of a Dornishman, "I was paid five dragons by an Acolyte Maester in Winterfell called Alleras to deliver this into your hands at all costs." He coughed a little. "He said that you would match that payment and said that there was a note beneath the oilskin to confirm this." There was an odd tone to his voice, as if he was trying to say something else that only Oberyn Martell might know.
And the Dornish prince did. After a moment's pause he reached out, took the package, slit some of the stitching with his knife so that he could unwrap it enough to see the note and then read it carefully. And then he reached into a pocket to pull out a money pouch, extracted five gold dragons and handed them over. "As promised. You have done well. You have my thanks."
As the man strode off with the Goldcloak Jon raised an eyebrow at Oberyn Martell. "You know this acolyte then?"
"Oh yes," he grinned back at him with a toothy smile. "I know him very well. You know that I have a daughter called Sarella don't you?"
Oddly enough it was Ser Davos who worked it out first. "Ah – Alleras is Sarella backwards!"
"Very good, Ser Davos," the Dornish Prince said approvingly as he opened the rest of the package and then raise his eyebrows at the sheaf of papers inside. "My daughter has sent a veritable near-book of a report." He looked at them. "I sent her to the North some time ago to investigate the Call. It seems that she has done exactly that. So – I have some reading ahead of me at the Red Keep."
They hoisted themselves into their respective saddles and then rode off up the hill towards the heart of the city and as they did Jon pondered on how long he would remain here before going home. The Vale was pulling him homewards and there was so much to do in order to meet the challenge that awaited them all. Yes, he needed to see his son again, and Ned, and above all help Robert with this great war that was upon them – but he was also tired. He was no longer a young man, he had had a brush with the Stranger himself and he needed to listen to what his body was telling him. But first he had his duties to perform. And above all there was the issue about Lysa…
The first surprise that greated them at the red Keep was the sight of a familiar plump figure with a bald head, dressed in silks and with his hands up his sleeves. "Varys!"
"Lord Arryn." The eunuch bowed politely. "Ah, and Prince Oberyn and Ser Davos. I hear that you have been attending to the dangerous cargo in the ships at the docks?"
"We have," Jon said as he dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. "You have heard much of what has happened?"
"I arrived a few hours ago, but my little birds have tried to keep me updated. It was not easy at times." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Hearing that we have all being walking about over such huge caches of wildfire was… distressing. And before you ask, no, I never even suspected at such a thing. I knew that Aerys Targaryen was plotting something with his last Hand, but the Mad King made it very clear to me that if I investigated where I wasn't wanted, I'd be made to swallow a flagon of wildfire at once. As for my trip to Pentos, it was… eventful."
"You were there when the Braavosi attacked?"
"I was. It was disagreeably… busy, that day. They masked their approach most cleverly and I barely had enough time to get away from the city on the landward side. The Braavosi Navy was very thorough in sweeping up and searching any who fled by sea. Which is why I had to spend far longer on Essos that I had planned."
"Was there much fighting?" Oberyn Martell asked, his eyes glittering.
The Master of Whispers nodded sadly. "Some of the Magisters thought that they could fight. They were wrong. I left before things got too bad, but I saw much smoke from a distance."
Jon nodded. War was war. Then he scowled a little. "So, the Braavosi have the Targaryen girl and her dragons."
"Ah," Varys said with a tone of voice that made him raise an eyebrow at the eunuch. "No, Lord Arryn. The situation in Pentos that day was most confused, but I have since ascertained that Daenerys Targaryen was not captured by the Braavosi. Instead she seems to have vanished. No-one in Pentos or indeed Braavos knows where she is. Or, for that matter, her dragons. It's a mystery that I am deploying my little birds to solve."
"Did one of the Magisters vanish off with her?" Oberyn Martell asked, looking up with a frown from the papers he was leafing through.
"Alas," Varys said with very little sympathy in his voice, "All the Magisters are accounted for. Those that were not captured were killed in the fighting."
Humph. A mystery then. He nodded and then they continued through the corridors of the Red Keep, with Varys regaling them with the tale of his escape from Pentos through a gate that was manned by an agent of his. And it was then that they heard Oberyn Martell stop dead behind them with an oath and an exclamation.
The three turned to look at him. The Red Viper of Dorne looked genuinely astonished as he stared down at the papers in his hands. After a moment he seemed to sense their collective gaze and looked up. "Your pardon, my Lords and Ser," he said in a low, stunned voice. "It would seem that my daughter was North of the Nightfort with two of the sons of Ned Stark, along with Tyrion Lannister and his uncle Gerion. And they met and defeated a force of wights and Others." He tilted his head to one side. "I do not know if I should chastise her for risking herself like this or shatter into a thousand pieces with pride."
And then he held out a piece of parchment with a drawing on it. And the images in that drawing made his skin crawl. Sarella Sand could draw very well indeed, the image in front of them almost conveyed movement.
"I think that we need to retire to the Small Council Chamber and read my daughter's report my Lords and Ser. There is a lot here to consider."
