章 51: A Shadow of Betrayal
299 AC, Twins…
As Rody's consciousness ebbed away, he felt a sharp pain explode in his head as one of the guards struck him with the hilt of his sword. The world spun dizzily around him, blurring into a haze of shadow and light as his vision swam with stars. Through the haze, he could see the furious and shocked face of the crown prince looming over him, his features twisted in a mask of disbelief and betrayal.
In his last fleeting moments of awareness, Rody's mind raced with fragmented memories, disjointed images flashing before his eyes like scenes from a nightmare. He remembered the frantic chase through the castle corridors, the sickening sight of blood spattered across the walls, the terror in the servant's eyes as she fled from the scene of carnage.
And then, the final, horrifying tableau burned itself into his mind with searing clarity: the sight of Hunter, his back turned to him, clutching the crown prince's wife in a vice-like grip, the glint of steel as the dagger descended, the strangled cry that escaped the woman's lips as her lifeblood spilled onto the floor.
With a gasp, Rody's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest as he found himself engulfed in darkness. Panic surged through him, a cold, suffocating dread that gripped him in its icy embrace. He reached out with trembling hands, groping blindly in the darkness as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.
But there was nothing, only the cold, empty void pressing in around him, a suffocating shroud that enveloped him in its grip. Memories flooded his mind, a torrent of images and emotions that threatened to overwhelm him: the fear and confusion of the moments before his capture, the shock and disbelief at the betrayal that had shattered his world.
And then, with a sudden, jarring clarity, he remembered: the truth of what had transpired in those final, fateful moments, the revelation that had turned his world upside down. Hunter, his trusted friend and ally, revealed as the true architect of the tragedy that had unfolded before him, his hands stained with the blood of the innocent.
As Rody lay in the darkness of the dungeon, the cold stone walls closing in around him, he couldn't shake the sense of disbelief that gripped him. How could Hunter, his trusted comrade, his fellow soldier in the struggle against the Lannisters, be capable of such a heinous act?
His mind raced with unanswered questions, each one more confounding than the last. Why would Hunter betray the crown prince, his own liege lord, in such a manner? What could drive a man to commit such a vile and senseless act of violence?
Rody sifted through the fragments of his memories, searching for any clue, any hint of Hunter's motives. But try as he might, he could find no explanation for his friend's inexplicable actions. Hunter had been absent when Rody had visited the Greycloaks' camp earlier that evening, a fact that now seemed suspicious in hindsight. And one of the Greycloaks had mentioned that Hunter had been in a foul mood that day, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic sullenness.
But even as Rody grappled with these troubling thoughts, he couldn't escape the sinking feeling that there was more to this mystery than met the eye. There were too many unanswered questions, too many pieces of the puzzle that didn't quite fit together.
With a heavy heart, Rody resigned himself to the grim reality of his situation. It seemed that he was destined to languish in the darkness of the dungeon, condemned to suffer for a crime he did not commit. But even as despair threatened to consume him, a flicker of determination burned within him.
Rody found himself grappling with a sense of disorientation unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Without the sun's rays to mark the passage of time, he struggled to distinguish between day and night, left to rely solely on the dim flicker of torchlight that cast shifting shadows across the stone walls.
In the suffocating darkness, the hours stretched interminably, each one dragging on with excruciating slowness. Rody could do nothing but sit and wait, his mind consumed by a relentless torrent of thoughts and memories. He replayed the events of that fateful night over and over again in his mind, searching for some clue, some shred of evidence that might exonerate him from the accusations that had been leveled against him.
But try as he might, Rody could find no solace in the labyrinthine corridors of his thoughts. The truth remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing mirage that danced just beyond his reach. And yet, despite the overwhelming weight of despair that threatened to crush him, Rody refused to surrender to despair. Deep within his heart burned a flicker of hope, a stubborn conviction that justice would prevail in the end.
For Rody knew that he was not alone in his struggle. Though he may have been confined to the darkness of the dungeon, he was not without allies. His comrades in arms, those who had fought alongside him on the battlefield and shared in his triumphs and his losses, stood by him in solidarity.
And so, as he languished in the depths of the dungeon, Rody clung to that glimmer of hope with all his strength, refusing to succumb to the despair that threatened to consume him.
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the dungeon swung open with a grating creak, Rody's eyes stung with the sudden onslaught of light. Blinking furiously, he shielded his eyes with a trembling hand, the harsh glare of the torches turning his vision to a hazy blur. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he began to make out the dim shapes of the guards looming before him.
With rough hands, the guards seized Rody by the arms, hauling him roughly to his feet and dragging him unceremoniously from the confines of the dungeon. Rody stumbled forward, his limbs heavy and unresponsive after hours spent languishing in the darkness below. The air felt cold and biting against his skin, a stark contrast to the damp, musty atmosphere of the dungeon.
As they emerged into the open air, Rody squinted against the glare of the sunlight, his eyes watering from the sudden change in brightness. He took in his surroundings with a sense of disorientation, struggling to make sense of the world outside the dungeon walls. The familiar sights and sounds of the castle grounds assaulted his senses, jarring him from the numbness that had settled over him in the depths of the dungeon.
Looking around, Rody saw that the guards were Northmen, their faces grim and impassive as they led him through the winding corridors of the castle. He tried to speak to them, to ask them where they were taking him, but his words fell on deaf ears. The guards remained silent, their expressions betraying nothing as they pressed on, their footsteps echoing hollowly against the stone walls.
As they traversed the corridors of the castle, Rody's eyes were drawn to the occasional splatters of dried blood that stained the stone floor and walls. He frowned, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he glanced around at the grim evidence of violence that surrounded them.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Rody turned to the guards, his voice laced with apprehension as he asked what had transpired in these corridors. One of the guards, his expression grim and unyielding, shot him a sharp look before muttering darkly, "Your folly happened."
The words hung heavily in the air, casting a pall of foreboding over their journey as Rody's mind raced with a flurry of unsettling thoughts. What had he done to merit such a fate? What dark deeds had unfolded in these halls, staining them with the mark of bloodshed?
Though tempted to press the guards for further answers, Rody held his tongue, sensing the futility of seeking clarity from men who were intent on keeping him in the dark. Instead, he remained silent, his thoughts churning with a mixture of unease and trepidation as they continued on their path.
But even as he walked, the questions gnawed at his mind, refusing to be silenced. This corridor was not the one he and Hunter had traversed, and yet the signs of violence were unmistakable. Something had happened here, something dark and sinister, and Rody couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow entangled in its web.
As they moved further into the heart of the castle, Rody's sense of disquiet only grew, his footsteps echoing hollowly against the cold stone floor. Each passing moment seemed to bring him closer to the truth, yet further from understanding as he grappled with the unsettling reality of his predicament.
As the guards ushered Rody into the grand hall of the castle, the weight of the atmosphere pressed down upon him like a suffocating blanket. The air was thick with tension, every whispered conversation and muttered exchange echoing off the high stone walls.
Inside, the hall was filled to the brim with a sea of faces, the assembled nobles of the North and their Frey counterparts seated in somber silence. At the head table, Lord Stark sat with a few select lords, his expression grave and contemplative as he surveyed the room.
As Rody stepped further into the hall, the hushed whispers seemed to swell in volume, a cacophony of murmured speculation and silent judgment that followed him like a shadow. All around him, eyes turned to gaze upon the newcomer, their expressions a kaleidoscope of emotions.
Some of the Northern nobles regarded him with narrowed eyes, their mistrust and disdain palpable in the air. Others wore expressions of doubt and uncertainty, their curiosity piqued by the sudden appearance of a man who had seemingly fallen from grace.
And then there were those whose gazes held a flicker of pity, their sympathy tinged with sorrow as they looked upon Rody, a man caught in the midst of a storm not of his making.
Feeling the weight of their collective scrutiny bearing down upon him, Rody squared his shoulders and met their stares with a steely resolve. Though the whispers swirled around him like a tempest, he refused to bow beneath their weight.
As Rody advanced further into the hall, his gaze crossed with the eyes of the crown prince, filled with a simmering hostility that seemed to burn into Rody's soul with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
Beside the prince, Jon stood with a troubled frown marring his usually composed features, his eyes betraying a mixture of confusion and concern as they met Rody's gaze. It was a look that spoke volumes, a silent question lingering unspoken between them.
But it was Lord Stark who held Rody's attention as he reached the head table, the lord's cold and impassive countenance giving nothing away as he regarded the accused man before him. Rody felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he met the lord's gaze, the weight of that steady stare bearing down upon him like an invisible weight.
For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the tension palpable as Rody stood before the head table, the eyes of the assembled nobles fixed upon him with unwavering scrutiny. It was as though the very air had grown thick with anticipation, each breath drawn with bated anticipation as they waited for the inevitable judgment to be passed.
As the murmurs in the hall fell silent, Lord Galbart Glover rose from his seat beside the king, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade through the night.
"Rody Greyguard," he began, his tone grave and solemn, "Captain of the Greycloaks and a Lord of the North. You stand accused of a grave crime against House Frey and House Stark, and of the murder of Lord Walder Frey and Crown Princess Roslin Stark."
His words hung heavy in the air, each syllable laden with the weight of accusation and judgment. Rody felt the weight of the room's collective gaze bearing down upon him, a palpable tension coiling in the air as Lord Glover spoke.
"Your actions have brought shame upon these two houses and cast a shadow over this joyous occasion," Lord Glover continued, his voice ringing out with authority. "And for that, you shall answer before the gods and the laws of our land."
As the gravity of Lord Glover's words sank in, Rody felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a sinking realization settling over him like a heavy cloak. He knew that the accusations laid against him were serious, and that the consequences of his actions could be dire.
Lord Galbart Glover's voice echoed through the hall, his words cutting through the tension like a sword through flesh. "Though the deed was witnessed by many, the law is certain, and questions must be asked and answered," he declared, his tone unwavering as he fixed his gaze upon Rody.
Rody stood tall, meeting Lord Glover's gaze with a steely resolve, his jaw set firm as he prepared to face the accusations laid against him. Despite the weight of the moment bearing down upon him, he remained composed, his expression betraying no hint of guilt or remorse.
In a voice that rang out clear and strong, Lord Glover addressed Rody directly, his words measured and deliberate. "Rody Greyguard," he intoned, the weight of his title and the gravity of the situation evident in his tone, "did you murder Lord Walder Frey and Crown Princess Roslin Frey?"
The question hung heavy in the air, the silence that followed stretching taut as all eyes turned to Rody, awaiting his response. In that moment, the weight of the accusation pressed down upon him like a crushing weight, threatening to engulf him in its shadow.
Yet despite the enormity of the question, Rody met it head-on, his voice steady and unwavering as he spoke his truth. "No," he declared, his words ringing out with conviction, each syllable laced with a fierce determination to assert his innocence.
Lord Galbart Glover's voice resonated with authority as he posed his next question, each word carrying the weight of impending judgment. "Were you in possession of any weapons or items that could have been used in the commission of the murders?"
Rody's response was swift and unequivocal. "Yes," he replied, his voice unwavering as he met Lord Glover's gaze with a steady resolve.
A murmur rippled through the crowd at Rody's admission, the tension in the hall palpable as the gravity of his words sank in. All eyes remained fixed upon him, their scrutiny unrelenting as he stood before them.
Lord Glover regarded Rody with a measured gaze, his expression inscrutable as he absorbed the weight of Rody's confession. "And what weapon did you possess?" he inquired, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade through the air.
Rody's response came without hesitation, each word spoken with a sense of grim resignation. "The Valyrian Steel Dagger, given by his grace, the king." he stated, his tone tinged with a mixture of defiance and resignation.
Lord Galbart Glover's voice cut through the tension like a blade as he raised the object in question high above his head, the flickering torchlight casting an eerie glow upon its gleaming surface. "Is this the dagger?" he demanded, his eyes fixed upon Rody with an unwavering intensity.
Rody's gaze followed Lord Glover's gesture, his heart pounding in his chest as he beheld the Valyrian Steel Dagger, its blade stained with the unmistakable hue of dried blood. A cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Yes," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he confirmed the weapon's identity.
A collective gasp rippled through the assembled nobles at Rody's admission, the air thick with a palpable sense of disbelief and unease. The Valyrian Steel Dagger, once a symbol of honor and prestige, now stood as damning evidence against him, its tarnished blade casting a shadow of doubt upon his innocence.
Lord Galbart Glover's brow furrowed in consternation as he absorbed Rody's words, his mind racing with the implications of this new revelation. The presence of the Valyrian Steel Dagger at the scene of the crime only served to deepen the mystery surrounding Rody's involvement, its significance shrouded in the murky depths of uncertainty.
"And what of the other Greycloak found dead at the scene?" Lord Glover pressed on, his voice cutting through the silence like a clarion call. "Was that person your accomplice?"
Rody's voice cut through the heavy silence that hung over the hall, his words ringing out with a quiet intensity as he recounted the harrowing events that had unfolded in the dimly lit chamber. "The other person in the room was a Greycloak named Hunter," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "When I entered the room, I found Hunter holding his dagger to the Crown Princess's throat, with Lord Frey already lying dead."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd at Rody's revelation, the assembled nobles exchanging incredulous glances as they absorbed the gravity of his words. The truth of Rody's testimony cast a shadow of doubt upon the accusations that had been leveled against him, the lines between guilt and innocence blurred by the complexities of the situation.
Rody's eyes met Lord Galbart Glover's gaze, his expression earnest as he sought to convey the sincerity of his words. "I acted in defense of the Crown Princess," he continued, his voice tinged with a note of urgency. "The blood stains on the dagger were a result of my attempt to subdue Hunter and save her life."
Lord Galbart Glover's brow furrowed in contemplation as he weighed Rody's testimony, his mind racing with the implications of this new information. The revelation raised more questions than it answered, each new detail adding another layer of complexity to the unfolding mystery.
"If there is nothing else you can contribute, Rody Greyguard, I will call upon witnesses to testify," Lord Glover declared, his voice echoing through the hall with a note of finality. "We must seek the truth of this matter, no matter where it may lead."
Rody's brow furrowed in disbelief as he listened to the maid's testimony, her words painting a damning picture of his actions on that fateful night. He could feel the weight of accusation bearing down upon him as she recounted her version of events, each word driving a dagger of doubt into his heart.
The maid's voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, her eyes darting nervously around the hall as she relived the horrors she had witnessed. "When I came before the door," she began, her voice trembling with fear, "I saw that man, Rody, kneeling over the princess with his hands wrapped around her throat."
Rody's jaw clenched with frustration as he listened to the maid's words, her testimony painting him as a cold-blooded killer. He knew the truth of what had transpired in that chamber, the memory seared into his mind with painful clarity. He had acted only to save the Crown Princess, his hands stained with her blood as he desperately tried to stem the tide of her life slipping away.
But as he glanced at the maid's trembling form, he realized the futility of trying to change her perception of events. In her eyes, he was nothing more than a murderer, a monster lurking in the shadows of the castle halls. No amount of protestations could sway her from that belief, her mind already made up by the horrors she had witnessed.
As the maid's testimony came to a close, Rody felt a surge of frustration bubbling up inside him, a desperate urge to set the record straight. But before he could utter a word, Lord Glover's stern voice cut through the air like a whip, silencing any protestations before they could be voiced.
"Silence!" Lord Glover commanded, his voice ringing out with authority. "You will speak only when spoken to, Greyguard. Do not forget your place."
Rody clenched his jaw tightly, his fists balling at his sides as he fought to contain his anger. He knew that any outburst now would only serve to further condemn him in the eyes of those assembled, so he bit back his retort and forced himself to remain silent.
As the maid stepped down from the stand, Rody's eyes followed her retreating form with a mix of frustration and resignation. He felt the weight of her accusations pressing down upon him like a leaden shroud, each word adding another layer to the damning case against him.
The next witness to take the stand was a guard, a familiar face from the castle gates on that fateful night. Rody's mind raced as he tried to recall the events of that evening, searching for any shred of evidence that might support his innocence. But as the guard began to speak, his heart sank like a stone.
As the guard's testimony unfolded, Rody's heart sank like a stone in his chest. He listened with a growing sense of dread as the guard recounted the events of that fateful night.
"We were standing watch at the gates, as usual," the guard began, his voice echoing through the hall. "When suddenly, a man appeared from the tents outside the castle."
Rody's mind raced as he tried to piece together the fragments of memory from that chaotic night. He could vaguely recall the tension in the air, the urgency in Hunter's voice as he begged to be allowed inside.
"We stopped him and told him that no soldier was allowed in tonight," the guard continued, his words ringing with clarity. "But the man claimed to be a Greycloak, saying that their commander had asked him to retrieve something from the great hall."
Rody's heart sank even further as the guard's testimony continued, each word driving another nail into the coffin of his hopes. He knew that he had no choice but to remain silent, to accept the damning evidence against him without protest.
As the guard concluded his testimony, Rody turned his eyes towards the king, seeking some solace or understanding in his gaze. But to his dismay, he found only silence and unreadable expression in the king's eyes.
Lord Glover's voice cut through the tense silence, directing his question to Jon Snow, the commander of the Greycloaks. Rody watched as Jon stood before the assembled nobles, his expression impassive as he listened to the question.
"I never left the castle that night," Jon replied, his voice steady and unwavering. "And I did not speak with anyone from outside the castle."
As the procession of witnesses continued to come and go, each one offering their own version of events, the atmosphere in the hall grew increasingly tense. Rody watched with a sinking feeling in his chest as the weight of suspicion and accusation seemed to mount with each passing moment.
Finally, it was Black Walder Frey's turn to speak, and as he stepped forward, Rody felt a sense of dread wash over him. He knew that Black Walder held no love for him or his family, and he could only imagine what accusations the man would level against him.
Sure enough, as Black Walder began to speak, his words dripped with venom and malice. He wasted no time in painting Rody as a villain, weaving a tale of grudges and vendettas that cast Rody as the architect of a heinous crime.
"Everyone knows how this boy is against our family," Black Walder declared, his voice ringing out through the hall. "What he did in the Westerlands and what he said during that night in the celebrations. Everyone saw what happened during that night. This boy must have held a grudge against our family. That is why he killed my great-grandfather and our beloved Roslin!"
Rody's jaw clenched with anger as he listened to Black Walder's accusations. He knew that every word the man spoke was poison, designed to turn the assembled nobles against him.
But Black Walder wasn't finished yet. With a sneer of contempt, he continued, "None of us are even mentioning that this man, here, broke our sacred laws! The guest rights are as old as these lands, this man here does not show his respect even for the Gods!"
As Black Walder's words echoed through the hall, Rody felt a surge of frustration and despair well up inside him. He knew that Black Walder's accusations would carry weight with many of those present, especially the Freys and those Northmen who harbored ill will towards him.
Rody's gaze hardened as he looked at Black Walder, his eyes burning with hatred and defiance. He knew that he had to find a way to refute the man's accusations and clear his name, no matter the cost. But as he searched for a way forward, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the odds stacked against him, threatening to crush him beneath their relentless pressure.
Despite the overwhelming odds and the weight of suspicion bearing down upon him, Rody remained resolute. He refused to allow Black Walder's accusations to shake his conviction or sway his determination to prove his innocence.
As Black Walder's words hung heavy in the air, Rody took a deep breath and steadied himself. He knew that he needed to speak up, to defend himself against the false allegations and twisted accusations that threatened to condemn him.
With a voice that rang out clear and unwavering, Rody addressed the assembled nobles, his tone firm and defiant. "My lords and ladies," he began, his words cutting through the tension in the hall like a blade. "I stand before you accused of crimes I did not commit. I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I am innocent of the heinous acts of which I am accused."
As he spoke, Rody met the gaze of each noble in turn, his eyes burning with a fierce determination to prove his innocence. He knew that he needed to convince them of the truth, to show them that he was not the villain that Black Walder sought to portray him as.
"I did not murder Lord Walder Frey or Crown Princess Roslin Stark," Rody continued, his voice unwavering. "I arrived in the room only to find the true perpetrator, Hunter, standing over the princess with a dagger to her throat. I acted swiftly to stop him, to save the princess's life, but alas, I was too late."
Rody's words hung in the air, his voice ringing with conviction and sincerity. He knew that he needed to make the nobles believe him, to show them that he was telling the truth.
"I implore you, my lords and ladies," Rody pleaded, his voice filled with earnestness and determination. "Do not let the lies and deceit of those who seek to condemn me cloud your judgment. I am innocent, and I beg for the chance to prove it."
As Rody's impassioned plea echoed through the hall, he could feel the weight of the moment hanging in the air. He knew that the fate of his life hung in the balance, and he could only hope that his words had found their mark, that the nobles would see the truth and deliver him the justice he so desperately sought.
As Lord Glover whispered something to the king's ear and raised his head back to address the gathered nobles, his commanding voice reverberated through the hall, Rody felt a heavy knot form in his stomach. He knew that the time for judgment had arrived, and his future now rested in the hands of the gathered nobles.
"Take the accused out of the hall for this day," Lord Glover instructed the guards with authority. "The verdict will be given tomorrow with the first light of the day."
Rody's heart sank as the guards approached him, their expressions stern and unwavering. He knew there was little he could do but accept his fate and hope for a fair trial.
With a resigned nod, Rody allowed the guards to lead him away from the head table and towards the exit of the hall. As he walked, he couldn't help but steal one last glance over his shoulder, studying the faces of the nobles gathered in the hall.
Some regarded him with pity, while others watched him with suspicion and disdain. Rody felt the weight of their judgment bearing down on him, and he couldn't help but wonder what lay beyond the confines of the hall.
As the heavy doors closed behind him, Rody was engulfed in darkness, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. Each step he took seemed to drag him further into the depths of uncertainty, his chains serving as a constant reminder of the gravity of his situation.
The guards dragged him back to his cell. Alone in there, Rody sank onto the cold stone floor, the weight of his predicament pressing down on him like a suffocating shroud. The darkness enveloped him, offering no solace, only an oppressive silence broken only by the faint echoes of distant footsteps echoing through the dungeon corridors.
Rody, unable to keep his eyes open any longer, succumbed to the overwhelming exhaustion that had been weighing on him. As he drifted off to sleep, the cold, damp cell faded away, replaced by the familiar yet haunting landscape of his childhood memories.
In his dream, he was once again a young boy, standing at the arc at the entrance of Wintertown. The sky above was a dreary gray, casting a melancholic hue over the bustling streets below. He stood with his friends, their eager faces filled with hope and excitement, waiting for the return of their fathers from the war.
But as time passed, the faces around him grew weary and uncertain. One by one, his friends' fathers returned, greeted with joyful embraces and tearful reunions. Yet, Rody's father remained conspicuously absent. The hope in his young heart began to wither, replaced by an aching void.
The scene shifted abruptly, and Rody found himself standing before his aunt. Her face twisted with anger and resentment, she berated him mercilessly. "Your father isn't coming back because of you," she spat, her words like venom. "You're the reason he's gone."
Rody watched in horror as her words cut deep into his soul. His cousin stood beside her, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he laughed at Rody's pain. The dream twisted further into a nightmare, the laughter echoing in his ears like a cacophony of torment.
The shadows around him grew darker, and Rody found himself surrounded by the stern faces of the Stark family and the northern lords. Their eyes bore into him with disdain and disappointment, their expressions filled with unspoken judgment. He felt their reproach like daggers piercing his heart, each look a reminder of his perceived failures and unworthiness.
The scene shifted once more, and Rody stood before the towering ice Wall, its imposing presence casting an eerie shadow over the frozen landscape. The air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the distant rumble of cracking ice. As he watched in horror, the Wall began to crumble, huge chunks of ice falling away to reveal a colossal humanoid figure emerging from within.
The giant's eyes glowed with an otherworldly fire, and with each step it took, the ground trembled beneath its massive feet. Rody felt an overwhelming sense of dread as he realized the Wall was disintegrating under the might of this monstrous being.
His heart pounded in his chest, the dreamscape around him collapsing into chaos and destruction. Rody felt the icy grip of fear tighten around him, the cold seeping into his bones. The dream dissolved into a swirling maelstrom of darkness, the horrifying images burned into his mind.
Rody's eyes flew open, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he was jolted back to the reality of his cell. The oppressive darkness surrounded him once more, but this time he was greeted by the distant sound of footsteps echoing around the chambers. He squinted, trying to make out the source of the light that flickered and danced on the stone walls. Slowly, a torch came into view, its warm glow pushing back the shadows.
Finally, Rody saw Crag appear before him, the towering figure holding the torch aloft. The flame illuminated his stern features, casting long shadows that seemed to flicker with each movement. Close behind him, his grace, the king, followed with an air of somber determination.
Rody pushed himself up to a sitting position, his body still aching from the night's ordeal. "Your Grace," he greeted the king, his voice rough and weary.
The king gazed at him in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable in the flickering torchlight. Without a word, he took the torch from Crag's hand. "Leave us," he commanded. "And ensure no one comes down here."
Crag nodded, his heavy footsteps receding as he climbed the stairs back to the surface, leaving Rody and the king alone in the dimly lit cell. The king looked around, his eyes taking in the grim surroundings. He spotted a wooden stool against the wall and dragged it over to the cell's bars, positioning it in front of Rody. He sat down heavily, the stool creaking under his weight, and placed the torch in a sconce on the wall beside him, the flame casting an eerie light over his face.
Rody watched the king in silence, unsure of what to expect. The gravity of the situation pressed down on him, but he held onto a glimmer of hope that the king's presence might signal a turning point in his fate.
Rody's breath hitched as he looked into the king's eyes, desperately searching for hope. "Your Grace, I..." he began, but the king raised his hand, silencing him.
"I already know who gave the order," the king said quietly.
Rody's eyes grew wide with shock. "Who was it?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The king sighed deeply, the weight of his knowledge heavy on his shoulders. "One does not rule a land as vast as the North with just honor, Rody."
Rody's heart leaped. "If you know who gave the order, then I'll be acquitted soon," he said, feeling the burden lift from his shoulders.
But the king's next words shattered his hope. "It's not just one person who gave the order. There are many. It seems like half of my lords are in on this."
Rody's world tilted as the king continued. "It was Lord Karstark who was the head of the snake, but others were involved as well. Lord Hornwood, Lord Ryswell, Lord Flint, and some other minor lords. They did not want House Stark to further 'sully' its blood with Southern matches."
Rody's mind reeled as the king explained that the conspirators had kidnapped the wife and sister of Hunter, threatening him to carry out the deed. Rody ground his teeth, recalling each moment Lord Karstark had cursed the Freys and pretended to be a loyal ally.
Suddenly, a chilling realization struck Rody. "If this is revealed, Your Grace will have to punish each of these nobles," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The king nodded slowly, the weight of the decision evident in his weary eyes. "That would be a huge folly," he said quietly, "with the threat of Stannis imminent, an escalation like that would doom our newly-gained independence."
Rody, his heart pounding, asked, "What will we do then, Your Grace?"
The king sighed deeply, looking down at the ground for a moment before meeting Rody's gaze. "I won't allow you to be hanged in the gallows or end up on the executioner's block."
The king sat upright suddenly, the sharpness of his movement startling in the dim light of the dungeon. "I received a missive from Winterfell," he said, his voice carrying a note of urgency.
Rody looked at him in confusion, his mind racing. Why mention this now, he wondered. He waited for the king to continue.
Eddard Stark's face was grave as he spoke. "Our victory in the South means little, Rody. We still have many enemies in the North."
"Which enemies?" Rody asked, his confusion deepening. "We defeated the Lannisters, and King Stannis will be busy handling rebellions in the South."
The king's expression darkened. "Word came from the Night's Watch about the death of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont."
Rody frowned, the implications slowly sinking in. "What happened to the Lord Commander?"
"You remember the Lord Commander going on a Great Ranging," Eddard continued, his voice low and grim. "On the way back, he was slain by some of his own men. Black brothers who shed their cloaks and turned traitor."
The king's face remained grave as he continued. "That's not all. Fifteen ships full of men arrived at White Harbour recently, numbering nearly 800."
Rody's confusion only deepened. "Why is that a concern?" he asked, trying to grasp the significance.
Eddard Stark sighed, realizing he needed to clarify. "These men stopped at White Harbour to get supplies, claiming they were sailing to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."
Rody's brow furrowed in concern. "Where did they come from?"
The king's eyes were dark as he answered, "They stated they came from King's Landing and that they were taking the black voluntarily."
Rody's confusion turned to worry. "Isn't that a good thing? The Night's Watch always needs more men."
Eddard shook his head slowly. "It's not that simple. They mentioned that many more would follow, with some prisoners opting to take the black instead of facing the executioner's block."
Rody frowned, trying to piece it all together. "But if they're choosing the black, doesn't that mean they'll bolster the Night's Watch?"
The king leaned forward, his voice heavy with concern. "Ordinarily, yes. But the timing and the sheer number of men coming from the South, especially from King's Landing, raises questions. What if they're not just criminals seeking refuge at the Wall? What if there's another purpose behind their arrival?"
The implications began to sink in for Rody. The influx of so many men, especially under the guise of bolstering the Night's Watch, could spell trouble if their intentions were not genuine. With the death of Jeor Mormont and the betrayal within the ranks, the Night's Watch was already in a precarious position. The sudden influx of men from the South could be a threat rather than a relief.
The king's expression grew even more somber as he continued. "I believe that King Stannis is not someone who would deign to games like these. He is a man of law. However, those who surround him are not so honorable or bound by law."
Rody listened intently, the weight of the king's words pressing on him. Eddard Stark's voice carried the burden of history and the foresight of a leader who understood the intricate balance of power. "The Night's Watch has stood strong for thousands of years, and it was all thanks to the Northern blood shed in the snows Beyond the Wall. The North sent two men to the Night's Watch for every man the South sent."
The king's face contorted with a grimace. "But now our numbers in the Night's Watch have dwindled, and since the Rebellion, not enough Northmen have taken the black. If a day comes when the North needs to face the South, we need to be certain that the Night's Watch will stay neutral as always."
Rody absorbed the king's words, understanding the gravity of the situation. The Night's Watch, an ancient order sworn to defend the realm from the dangers beyond the Wall, had always relied heavily on the strength and loyalty of Northern men. The dwindling numbers of Northmen in the Watch meant that the institution's loyalty could be compromised, especially with a large influx of men from the South.
The king continued, his tone resolute. "The Night's Watch has always been a bastion of neutrality, but if its ranks are filled with men who do not hold the same values, who may have other allegiances, it could spell disaster for the North. We cannot afford to have the Night's Watch turned against us or manipulated by Southern interests."
The king's face was shadowed with deep lines of worry as he continued speaking. "We faced a similar situation during the Rebellion. The Lord Commander was Dornish, but the Night's Watch was filled with Northmen, so there was no real threat to the North. However," he sighed heavily, "the situation is not the same anymore."
Rody listened intently, his mind racing with the implications of what the king was saying. "What can we do?" he asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.
Eddard Stark looked Rody directly in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "We will do what is necessary and send Northmen to take the black," he said firmly. "While we can send men, they also need someone to rally them."
Rody felt a cold chill run down his spine. "Who do you have in mind, Your Grace?" he asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
The king held Rody's gaze for a long moment before speaking. "You," he said finally, his voice solemn.
Rody's eyes widened in shock, but before he could speak, the king continued. "The lords have already convened tonight and rendered their verdict. Since the victim is of my house, I cannot have a full say in the verdict, but I can decide on the punishment."
"You want me to take the black?" Rody asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The king nodded slowly. "Yes, Rody. It is indeed the case," he confirmed.
Rody shook his head, a deep frown furrowing his brow. "Even if I take the black, no Northmen would follow me. They would see me as a traitor," he said, his voice heavy with despair.
The king gave a small, knowing smile. "You probably don't know since you have been here, but the Greycloaks still hold their loyalty to you," he said, his eyes meeting Rody's.
A faint smile graced Rody's face at this unexpected show of loyalty from his men. It was a small comfort in the midst of the turmoil he found himself in. However, the next words from the king made his smile fade into a frown.
"The fools, a lot of them," Eddard continued, his tone slightly exasperated. "They captured a Frey and threatened to kill him if you are not released."
Rody snorted, muttering under his breath about their idiocy. "Idiots," he said, shaking his head.
The king's expression softened slightly. "After their folly, some will need to take the black as well. They can be the force you need to rally other Northmen, in time," Eddard said, his voice carrying a note of hope.
Rody's thoughts whirled as he considered the king's words. Despite the dire situation, there was a glimmer of a plan forming in his mind. The loyalty of the Greycloaks, even in their misguided actions, showed him that he wasn't entirely alone. If he could leverage that loyalty, he might be able to build a new foundation within the Night's Watch.
Eddard's eyes held a steady resolve as he watched Rody process this new information. "The Night's Watch needs strong leadership now more than ever. Your presence there could make all the difference," the king added.
Rody took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. "I'll do it," he said finally, his voice filled with determination. "For the North, and for the Watch."
The king nodded, a look of respect and approval in his eyes. "I knew you would. The North will be stronger for it," he said.
Rody knew the path ahead would be difficult, filled with challenges and sacrifices. But in that moment, he found a renewed sense of purpose. Taking the black wasn't just a punishment; it was an opportunity to protect the North from threats both old and new. And with the loyalty of his men, he knew he could make a difference.
As the king stood to leave, he placed a hand on Rody's shoulder. "May the old gods watch over you," he said quietly before turning and walking away.
Rody watched him go, feeling a mix of emotions—determination, apprehension, and a glimmer of hope. The road ahead was uncertain, but he knew he was ready to face whatever came his way.
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