章節 31: Chaoter 31
This cannot be true." Robb said, once again, looking stunned at the letter Roose Bolton had handed him. He'd been stunned by the news, much as he assumed his mother would have been when the news reached Steffon's camp. Undoubtedly it would have reached them by now.
"We've had ravens from Barrowton, White Harbor and the Dreadfort. Unfortunately it is." The patriarch of House Bolton said impassively. Robb had grown to trust the man. He had proven to be an able second-in-command, even if he was more inclined to brutality. Nonetheless, he had held himself back from it. So far.
"My brothers?"
"We've heard nothing of them. Nor the princess Myrcella, My Lord. Rodrik Cassel, however, is dead."
Robb stood, silently fuming over the ill-begotten news before crumpling up the note and hurling it into one corner of the tent. "I must go North at once." He said, grabbing his sword and scabbard and marching for the exit, only for Roose to grab him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"There is still a war to win, My Lord. His Grace, King Steffon, will be counting on us to keep the Lannisters focused here while he deals with Renly." Bolton said. As usual, his face was not betraying any emotion.
"Steffon named me Warden and Lord Paramount of the North!" Robb said petulantly. "How can I call myself by either of those titles if I'm not defending the North?!"
"As you said, you're the North's Warden and Lord Paramount." Bolton replied. "That means you don't have to do everything yourself. I'm sure His Grace is thinking the same way; he wants his best commanders here in the south."
"Theon will die for this." Robb muttered.
"And he shall." Roose replied. "Allow me to send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort, Ramsay. King Steffon will already know that we have garrison forces left in the North and has likely deduced that Theon is holding Winterfell with a skeleton crew."
"It may be the North, but we're fighting this war to put him on the Iron Throne." Robb said. "He has a better strategic mind than any of us here, look at how he handed Renly's arse to him at the Kingswood, and kept him on the back foot ever since!"
"It may be his realm, but a king should defer a region's defence to whoever rules it." Bolton argued. He had learnt this art over many years under Eddard Stark, the gullible fool. "Ramsay can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell in a fortnight. Then he can start a campaign to push the Greyjoys out of the North for good." He said.
Robb turned to him, deep in contemplation. "Would it not be safer to starve them out? If they are indeed a skeleton crew, they would not have many supplies with them. If we cut off their supply chain, it could lead to disorder; the Iron Islanders may turn against each other. Perhaps even Theon."
"If we did, your brothers and the princess would be the first to starve. They are only children, after all." Roose replied. "We have the Lannisters on the run. If you go back to the North now, not only will you lose everything you've gained here but you'll incur Steffon's wrath. After a few more victories such as the Kingswood and the war is won. Do you truly think our king would let himself think it was anything but a betrayal?" He asked.
Robb was silent, contemplating Roose's words. Eventually, he reached his decision. "Tell your son that the safety of Bran, Rickon, and Princess Myrcella are paramount. Tell him to strike quickly and fiercely. As for Theon, have him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why… before I take his head."
Roose nodded, before exiting the tent.
Sansa, still shaken from the traumatic experience with the mob, winced in pain as her handmaiden, Shae, tended to her injuries with a wet rag. "Shh. It's not deep." She consoled.
"I thought they were going to kill me." Sansa whimpered. Her mind wandered back to one of the noblewomen present during the riot. She remembered seeing her grown torn wide open, revealing her full breasts, before she was raped multiple times by numerous rioters. There was little doubt in her mind she would have suffered a similar fate had it not been for the Hound's untimely intervention. It was enough to make her sick to her stomach as the air seemed to flee from her lungs. "He hated me," she shivered, "the man who hit me. I saw it in his eyes. He never even met me before, but he wanted to hurt me."
"Of course he did." Shae said, bluntly, standing up and walking over to the water basin to rinse out the blood from the rag. "It is because you were everything he could never be. Your horse eats more than he does."
"I would have fed them if I had food. I hate the king more than any of them. I want to see Steffon on the throne." Sansa was silenced as Shae knelt before her and grabbed her hands.
"Do not say those things." Shae hissed. "If the wrong people hear you, you will be killed."
"You are not the wrong people." Sansa protested.
Shae was silent, before standing up and turning away. "Do not trust anybody. Life is safer that way."
Sansa was silent, contemplating her handmaiden's words before standing and approaching her, taking her hands in her own and looking her in the eye. "I trust you." She reassured.
Before Shae had a chance to say anything else, there was a knocking at her chamber door. When she answered it, her expression brightened. "Lord Tyrion. How good to see you."
The half man smiled as he entered the room with his nephew, Tommen, close behind him as he approached Sansa. "My lady."
"Lord Tyrion," Sansa curtseyed, "And Prince Tommen."
"I trust you are fairing better after that horrible event."
"Yes. Thank you." Sansa lied, bowing her head.
"As it would seem," Tyrion continued, gesturing towards Tommen, "My youngest nephew would like to present you a gift."
The little prince blushed, almost as if he were hiding behind his uncle, although he was now over a head taller than him. After a bit more silent encouragement from his uncle, the boy took a deep breath before stepping forward and holding out his gift. It was wrapped in cloth and bound by small straps of leather. Sansa gave a weak smile before accepting the gift and unraveled it, revealing it to be a steel dagger, its thin blade well-tempered and beautifully polished. Its grip was wrapped in fine wire, with a pair of quillons serving as a cross guard and tipped and adorned with a silver pommel. "It… it was a gift from my brother–Steffon, I mean–when I was a child. He said someday I'd need to learn how to use it, but I'd rather you have it instead."
Sansa said nothing, quietly inspecting the blade and running her finger along the smooth edge. Finally, she regarded the young prince with a smile. "Thank you, my Prince."
Tyrion cleared his throat, making his way to the door. "The little prince also said that he'd like to have a few words with you. In private. If you'd come with me, Shae." Shae nodded as she and Tyrion left the room, making sure to close the door behind her.
Tommen then looked back at Sansa and said, "I'm scared, my lady."
"What troubles you, your grace?" Sana'a asked, taking a seat at the end of her bed before offering a seat beside her.
Tommen accepted her offer, anxiously twiddling his thumbs before finally speaking his mind. "Both of my brothers are fighting for the Iron Throne."
"And you're afraid Joffrey will fail?" Sansa asked, feeling a pang of anxiety in the implication that a child as innocent as Tommen could favor a monster like Joffrey over someone like Steffon.
Tommen shook his head frantically. "I'm afraid Joffrey will kill him. He's talked about it for years."
Back from another successful skirmish, Edric discarded his helmet, wiping the dirt and sweat from his face. He continued to make his way through the camp, before coming across Mira Forrester, seated on a log and writing on a piece of parchment. He smiled before moving to greet her. "Lady Forrester." Mira squeaked in shock, standing up from her seat as her paper fell to the floor. Edric chuckled raising his hands in surrender. "Apologies, m'lady. I didn't mean to startle you."
"No, no. It's… it's fine." Mira stammered, hoping the bastard didn't notice her flushed cheeks.
Edric bent down to pick up the piece of paper she dropped, and couldn't help himself from reading the first few sentences. "A message to your family?" He asked, promptly returning it to Mira.
"Well… yes." She replied. "They no doubt heard how I was taken hostage by Steffon. The least I can do is assure them I'm in good hands."
Edric nodded, taking a seat on the log where Mira once sat. "If I may ask, how big is your family? I regret to inform you that I don't know many Northern Houses."
"There's my mother and father, but I have many siblings. My older brothers Rodrik and Asher. The two couldn't be more different." Mira laughed. "Then there's my sister Talia, and my brother Ethan. They're actually twins. Then the youngest is little Rydon." Edric nodded, as Mira finally sat beside him. "If I may ask, ser-… Edric… do you have a family of your own."
Edric sighed. "My father died in an unfortunate hunting accident. My mother, I haven't heard from her in years. I doubt she wants little to do with me. Thankfully, I have a brother to fill that void in my life. That's Steffon."
Mira's eyes widened. "You're King Steffon's Bastard brother?" She asked.
Edric nodded. "It's not as bad as it sounds, I assure you. Our uncle Renly provided me with a good education. It was quite comfortable, actually."
Mira smiled. "I'm actually rather envious. I didn't choose to be Lady Tyrell's handmaiden. My mother made the suggestion. She said it would an honorable position for someone of my family's position."
"Do you have regrets?" Edric asked.
"Only that I wished it didn't conflict with my loyalty to my family."
"It's something many of us have to face." Edric replied, standing up and dusting himself off. "Do we choose our homes, or our family? I like to think we can serve both at the same time. Until next time, Lady Forrester." Edric winked, earning another blush from Mira before taking his leave.
Edric entered Steffon's tent to see him pouring over letters once again. He seemed to be sleep deprived by the heavy circles under his eyes, and the disheveled look of his hair. "More word on the fall of Winterfell?" Edric asked gently. The castle's fall had done a lot of damage to their cause, and the possibility of Robb retaliating with force did little to calm his nerves. As a fighter, Edric did not have much of a gift for strategy, but even he was aware that the odds of succeeding against both Renly and Tywin were minimal without the North's support.
Steffon sighed. "No. I asked Robb to send me reports on my grandfather for the past couple of weeks." He tossed one of said reports on the table for his half-brother to see. "Apparently there are numerous atrocities taking place at Harrenhal. Or, at least that's what word from the villagers claimed." He said.
"Then, why hasn't Robb taken action yet?"
"Because Harrenhal is currently the home to my grandfather's army. If Robb attacks, it would be suicide." Steffon replied. "I need some way of finding out what is going on there." He said frustratedly.
"Can we send in a raiding party? A spy?"
Steffon shook his head. "The Lannister soldiers ride out to take supplies from the villagers. There's also rumors that Gregor Clegane is situated there." Steffon replied. Edric nodded. He should've expected that answer; it was almost impossible for the Old Lion to let anything compromise his forces. Not when Robb was running riot over the Westerlands. Then there was the Mountain, one of the most feared members of the King's Guard.
Of course Tywin would use his fucking attack dog. Edric thought. "So what we need is some way of cutting through the horseshit and finding what in Seven Hells is happening?"
"That's it." Steffon said, raising an eyebrow. "You summarised that almost too accurately."
"I can be smart when needed." Edric grinned proudly.
"And I must savour those precious few moments." Quipped Steffon.
Edric snorted, giving Steffon a light punch in the shoulder.
"Do you want me to be honest or would you prefer a children's story?" Steffon deadpanned. Edric was silent for a moment, trying to think of a comeback. "That's what I thought."
Damn it, he beat me again!
Even as Steffon was insulting him, a plan was taking shape in his head. Tywin had never seen his face before. It would be relatively easy for him to disguise himself as a Tully soldier and be imprisoned at Harrenhal. It;s not like they would try to get information out of a standard infantryman. Would they?
"Steffon, I think I might have a plan."
"I warned you about planning."
"Shut up. I could disguise myself as a Riverlands soldier or something. A common pikeman. Even if they're torturing people there, it's not like they'd be torturing typical soldiers, right?" He said. A rhetorical question, of course. Neither of them could be certain of the answer when Tywin Lannister was involved in something.
"That's not a plan, Edric. That's suicide."
"Steffon, you need people you can rely on there. I can organise the prisoners, for one thing. And I'm certain I'd be able to get the information to you somehow."
"I was hoping for something more solid than that." Steffon replied. Edric's shoulders slumped. As much as he hated to admit it, Steffon had a point. "Tell you what, if you can sort out how to get the information to me, then I'll let you go. Until then, I need you here."
The responsibilities of an outrider were many, as Jon was starting to learn. Though he was still Steffon's sworn shield, he found it hard to mingle amongst the other Stormlanders. He attributed it to being from the North; but part of him knew that it was also because he was a bastard. Despite Steffon entrusting him with his life, he knew he would never be seen as the equal of the other knights and lords in the host. As it was the handful of scouts he was leading now were still reluctant to follow him. Not that they had much choice in the matter; Steffon had told them Jon was to lead this particular patrol in order to gain needed command experience.
Unusual for a sworn shield to leave his charge's side, he thought, but Steffon is no ordinary king.
Cresting a rise, Jon and the three men with him spotted a small farm, but he could see not all was right. "That's not smoke from a chimney, is it?" He asked.
"No." One of the scouts confirmed. Jon kicked his heels and his horse galloped to the farm, the other men following close behind. They all dismounted upon reaching it, and as they approached the door, it was suddenly busted down from the inside. An old man came tumbling out, his face hitting the dirt.
"Couldn't just let us have our fun could you?" Someone said, following the man out and driving an armored foot into the man's side.
"What's happening here?" Jon said, approaching the soldier
"This bloody bastard shoved a knife into one of my men." He said, punctuating it with another kick to the man. Jon looked the soldier's surcoat. It looked very familiar.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"Ser Raymund Connington, brother to Ser Ronnet." The soldier replied. That's it. Jon recalled that Ronnet Connington had defected from Renly's banner not long after the Battle of the Kingswood. He was lukewarm in his support at best, but his backing was necessary. The Connington seat of Griffin's Roost was only half a day's ride from Storm's End, and commanded the western shore of Shipbreaker Bay. Connington support was necessary for the security of Storm's End.
"Why did this man attack yours?" Jon enquired.
"Just having a bit of fun when this bastard decided he didn't like us that much." Connington growled. "He's lucky my man's not dead." He said as two more came out, one clutching at a slight wound.
"I'm not your man, Connington." The wounded man growled. "I serve Lord Buckler."
"And you should have more care when speaking to two knights." The third man said. "Ser Aemon Estermont. Ser Raymund's right; we're just trying to find some comfort in the middle of this mess." He smiled thinly.
As if on cue, two women ran out of the house; one who Jon swore was no older than 16. The scouts and Jon shared a look as they put the pieces together. It was pretty plain to see what had happened now. Things were complicated to say the least; the Buckler stronghold at Bronzegate controlled the road to Storm's End, and the Estermonts of Greenstone basically kept the entire southern coastline secured.
"You know the king's orders." Job warned. "We do not rape."
"The King doesn't need to know." Connington replied with a sly grin. "Tell you what, you pretend you never saw us, we'll let you and your lads have a go." He said. One of the scouts turned his face up in disgust.
"We don't rape, orders of the king." Jon repeated. "Thrown down your arms and surrender yourself."
Connington laughed. "Why should I do that, bastard?" He grinned maniacally. "That's right, I know exactly who you are. The bastard son of Eddard Stark who King Steffon took under his wing." He laughed again. As much as Jon knew it shouldn't anymore, being called a bastard still stung.
"You heard him, ser. You've violated the king's word. For that, you will be brought before him and punished." One of the scouts said, loosening his blade in the scabbard.
"Well, you won't be able to prove that when you're dead." Came the reply. Connington drew his sword and quickly thrust it through the neck of one of the scouts. Jon and the others drew their swords. Connington made the same attack on Jon, but he was luckily able to sidestep and parry the thrust before following up with a strike of his own; a cut to the wrist. He had been taught to target his opponent's extremities like the hands and feet in order to disable them. Connington yelped; the blade was unable to pierce his armoured gauntlet, but nonetheless took him by surprise. Snarling angrily, he made another thrust at Jon's head. Jon instinctively parried with a thrust of his own, catching Connington's blade in his crossguard, but sending his own blade through the man's neck.
One of the other scouts, who had subdued the Buckler soldier, looked over in shock. The other scout did as well. Connington writhed on the ground as blood flowed freely from the hole in his neck. Angered, Ser Aemon charged a scout and ran him through with his sword before mounting one of the horses.
"You will hang for this, bastard!" He shouted before galloping away.
It had been Osha's plan. Escape the castle under the cover of darkness in order to avoid being spotted by the Ironborn and while she distracted Theon. That was why Myrcella now found herself with Bran, Rickon and the stableboy, Hodor, hiding near the North Gate with the direwolves. The beasts still frightened her, but she knew that they would defend the Stark boys with their lives. And her as well, she hoped.
"She should be here by now." Myrcella said, her voice filled with anxiety.
"She will be." Bran replied. "There's no way Theon would be unguarded, so she has to get past them first."
Myrcella had to admit that. Still, there was no way they were getting past the gate's guard. Three children couldn't overwhelm a trained soldier, and Hodor had an aversion to violence. The direwolves wouldn't have any trouble mauling him to death, but it would likely make too much noise and alert the other patrols. Theon would likely be much less forgiving if they were caught trying to escape.
She briefly wondered how Steffon was planning to help her. She knew he couldn't just abandon the war to help them; the same went for Robb. Surely there had to be at least a few hundred Northern soldiers still above the Neck? She hoped they were on their way.
"There!" Bran whispered. Myrcella looked over and saw Osha emerge from the building. She was spotted unfortunately, but she showed no fear or hesitation. She put on a sultry face before approaching the guard. Myrcella watched as the wildling woman kissed the guard before drawing a knife and slitting his throat. Myrcella looked away. She still wasn't used to the sight of blood.
They saw Osha take something off the guard's belt and open the gate. They saw her head through it, checking to see if the coast was clear before signaling them with a whistle. "Let's go!" Myrcella said. The four quickly moved through the gate to Osha's position.
They made their way out of the castle quickly while trying to stay as quiet as possible as well. They knew that Theon didn't have the numbers to have a patrol beyond the walls of Winterfell, but one wrong move now could doom the entire attempt.
Funny thing about running in the dark, though. You can barely see where you're going without light, and they had no torches with them. It was Bran who fell. He tripped over a small rock and went tumbling down a ravine, letting out more than a few yelps of pain. Myrcella's first reaction was to freeze and look behind them to check that no one was coming. It was instinctive more than anything; they were so far beyond the walls now that it was unlikely they'd be heard. The others carefully made their way down to Bran, Myrcella following.
"Bran! Are you alright?" Myrcella asked, kneeling at his side.
"My… my legs." Bran wheezed, clearly winded from the fall. "W-why… can't I… feel my legs?"
Chapter complete.
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