I was nervous about the upcoming conversation with Ser Barristan and Ser Brienne. I had kept my magical abilities a secret from everyone throughout my third life. Oh, I was sure some suspected I had caused supernatural occurrences. Most would attribute that to the absurd "Maiden-made-flesh" religious nonsense or some divine miracle saving me from the fall from the Eyrie. But now I would be revealing this to my two closest allies, and I was unsure how they would react.
With no reason to delay, I summoned them into my tent.
"Ser Barristan, Ser Brienne, you have both been my most stalwart and loyal members of the Stormguard. I trust you with my life and my secrets. It is the latter that I must trust you with again."
"We stand ready to serve," Brienne said without hesitancy, while Barristan nodded in agreement.
"I–" I paused, searching for the right words, "I have encountered the supernatural a few times in my life. The morning of the attack of the shadow demon is one such example. The illusionary sword of fire my uncle wielded. And Sandor Clegane's return from the dead. I am here to tell you that, while these events have surprised me, they did not shock me as much as one would think."
Again, I paused as I carefully looked at their faces. Brienne's scarred one and Barristan's lined one.
"They didn't paralyze me with astonishment because I, too, have done things that many would call sorcery."
Both were nodding. "The Moon Door," Barristan said.
I blinked. Neither seemed shocked or upset. Given the society and beliefs that dominate Westeros, I had naturally imagined they would be more antagonistic to the idea that I could use magic.
"Yes, and other times too. Ser Lum's recovery, for example."
Brienne had a thoughtful look on her face. "How long have you been able to do these things?"
"Since early childhood. Though of late, I have grown stronger. I've played with a few theories as to why, everything from association to certain creatures, over growing closer to my maturity, to celestial events, and more. I cannot speak confidently as to why these abilities have waxed."
Ser Barristan gave me a smile. "Lady Myrcella, I sense your worry. And it is without cause. My life has been pledged to you, and sorcery will not change it."
Brienne took a knee. "The same for me, my lady. You have raised me to knighthood, given me everything I have ever wanted. I will never forsake you."
I felt a wave of elation. This was good. I congratulated myself on the fine selection of meat shields I had made. I blinked a few times, blinking away moisture – probably caused by some smoke of a nearby cooking fire that must have wafted in when my two Stormguard entered.
"Good. Good. As to why I am telling you now, it is because of the upcoming Trial of Seven. Ser Barristan, I believe it may be possible to properly heal the wound you suffered in the Kingswood. I cannot be certain, nor can I assure you there may not be side effects in the future, but I believe I have better than a coin toss's odds of restoring your leg to fighting trim."
There was no tentativeness in Ser Barristan's response.
"I gladly accept the risk, Myrcella. I will be more than happy to if it means my sword can participate in this critical trial."
Excellent. This was all going well.
"Wonderful. Needless to say, I require both of you to keep my abilities a secret. Not everyone would be as understanding, and keeping their existence hidden means my enemies will continue to underestimate me."
"Of course," they both chimed in unison.
"Who are the other participants in the trial?"
That was a good question, one I had spent a lot of thought on already. Bronn had proven to be a formidable warrior, even if he didn't like using heavy armor due to a preference for speed and flexibility. He had impressive reflexes and fantastic combat instincts, but plate armor was incredibly advantageous. I also wanted Sandor Clegane. I suspected that his new physiology would give him an edge – an edge that probably wasn't even needed. Clegane was a powerhouse, and his raw strength and endurance were matched by his skill and speed.
"I also intend to write to Lord Beric and Lord Cortnay. Aegon has agreed to allow safe passage for a contingent from the Stormlands to make for King's Landing. I've heard positive things about the fighting prowess of the Marcher Lords."
Barristan nodded. "Aye, and the best of them is the Bastard of Nightsong, Ser Rolland Storm."
"I also intend to use Ser Guyard Morrigan. My brother will still have Ser Arys for protection, but we will need every elite knight we can spare," I explained.
"And… I intend to use Robb Stark."
Both were surprised. "Lord Stark agreed to this?" Ser Barristan asked.
I nodded. "Yes. My agreement with him was renegotiated after Aegon's missive regarding the Trial of Seven. He was hesitant, but my original agreement would be to continue to hold one of his children as hostage. Mostly for appearances and so that my grandfather is partially appeased. Instead, Bran will be heading North sooner, and Robb will be returning as soon as the Trial of Seven is finished."
Lord Stark had been hesitant in having his son fight in the trial. But I reminded him of the painful truths of his situation, and he had relented.
"In exchange, we are leaving the North in peace until spring arrives. By then, everything will have been decided one way or another. Folding the North back into the realm should be simple enough, or we defeat them in battle. In either case, I have no desire to fight in the North in winter. General Winter is a far more formidable opponent than many realize."
My thoughts drifted to the history of my first life, and the experience of my second life on the eastern front. No, I really did not want to fight battles in the snow and ice again!
"That still leaves one or two more slots, depending on if you wish to select Bronn," Barristan reminded me.
"Ser Perwyn Frey or Ser Barlow Waters?" Brienne ventured.
Hmm, Ser Barlow was good, and quite loyal. However, among my Stormguard, he was not quite as elite as many of the others. Ser Perwyn Frey, likely even less so. He was a competent knight, but he had mostly been selected for the sake of honoring our Frey allies.
"Possibly. I do intend to put our selectees through some rigorous training. It would be good if we have a larger pool to draw from. Battle in the Trial of Seven is not just how competent one is in a one-on-one but also in how well one fights as a unit."
It would be at least a month until the Trail of Seven; however, I couldn't go all out on my training like I had done with the 203rd. Depending on how things went with Ser Barristan's leg, maybe I could get people healed up if they suffered a serious wound, but that was still not something I wanted to chance. A broken rib or a concussion could impair any of my champions – err, well, Tommen's champions – in the trial.
Barristan and Brienne put forth a few other names before discussion turned to how we would handle potential treachery. Moving such a large force into the enemy's range without support was a risky affair, but I trusted my Stormlanders to punch above their weight. Once we were within King's Landing, I felt confident I could incite an uprising among the smallfolk. My grandfather would also have the rest of Tommen's army already south of the God's Eye. If it came to a bloody fight, I would be disappointed, but we would be ready.
***
Arya grieved for Meera. The woman of House Reed had been someone she looked up to – confident, skilled in combat, and a pleasant companion. Her grief was mixed with heart-stopping terror at what lay outside the cave. She had thought she would never be more frightened than when she and her family had been attacked in the Tower of the Hand, but wights emerging from beneath the frozen ground had been even more terrifying.
They had spoken with the female creature guiding them. She said that her name was not pronounceable, but that 'Leaf' would do. Arya had been jostled out of her grief and fear by a claim to have lived for two hundred years. The quick pace they took did not allow Arya to ask the follow-up question burning on her mind, and she did not wish to be lost in the winding passages they were taking.
The way was cramped and twisty. The ceiling, just a few feet above her, was a tangled mix of roots and dirt. The thought of all that earth collapsing down on her made her shudder.
Fear cuts deeper than swords.
She pressed on. If the underground cave they found themselves in collapsed atop their heads, they would die, and there was nothing they could do about it. If it did not, they would live, so why dwell on it? The passages branched, and they took the right path, following Leaf. There were more side passages after that, more chambers, and Arya heard dripping water. She glanced down one dark passage and saw eyes like Leaf's glowing back at her.
How many of the Children of the Forest are here?
Arya saw roots everywhere, some so large they sealed off entire passages on their own. The heart tree back in Winterfell had roots as thick as a horse, but these around the cavern were even larger. As they entered a massive chamber, Arya's eyes widened in awe.
Before them, a pale lord in ebon finery sat in a tangled nest of roots, a woven weirwood throne that embraced his withered limbs. His body was so skeletal and his clothes so rotted that, at first, Arya took him for another corpse, a dead man propped up so long that the roots had grown over him, under him, and through him. What skin the corpse lord showed was white, save for a bloody blotch that crept up his neck onto his cheek. His white hair was fine and thin as root hair and long enough to brush against the earthen floor. Roots coiled around his legs like wooden serpents. One burrowed through his breeches into the desiccated flesh of his thigh, to emerge again from his shoulder. A little skin remained, stretched across his face, tight and hard as white leather, but even that was fraying, and here and there the brown and yellow bone beneath was poking through.
"What manner of creature are you?" Syrio said, voice tinged with awe.
"Ah, you. Once the First Sword of Braavos. I have seen your fate, and yet you ask me what manner of creature am I? I could ask the same of you, for you were destined to die in the city of Kings."
"A man, like any other. One who knows the Water Dance better than most," Syrio responded smoothly without a tremor of the fear that Arya felt when she saw the living corpse speak.
The dead-looking lord's voice was dry. His lips moved slowly but accelerating as he spoke.
"Welcome, Arya Stark. You are a most disturbing surprise."
"Surprise? Who are you? Why was it important I come here? How are we going to get out of the cave with those dead things trapping us?"
A dry chuckle was the response.
"You have questions, and so do I. You are not the one I wished for. You have the ability to warg, and I sense a latent talent for seeing the future, but you are no greenseer. You cannot do what Bran could have, at least not as you are now."
Syrio tilted his head. "A girl has asked you a question. Who are you?"
"I wore many names when I was quick, but even I once had a mother, and the name she gave me at her breast was Brynden."
The last was said in a whisper.
"His strength is not what it once was; only a little remains," Leaf explained. "Most of him has merged with the tree. He has lived far beyond his mortal span, and yet he lingers. For us, for you, for the realms of men. He has a thousand eyes and one, but there is much to watch. One day, perhaps, you will understand."
Arya was confused. "What do you mean by that?"
Leaf paused, expression remaining the same. "Brynden will tell you more when he can. The battle has exhausted him."
Jojen slammed his hand against the earthen wall. "What's the point? That man was the last greenseer, but now even green dreams are meaningless!" Tears streamed down his cheeks. "This whole journey was fruitless, and now my sister is dead."
Leaf slowly shook her head. "No, not meaningless. Something has changed the course of destiny, but there is still hope for your people, even if it fades for my own. The question is, young scion of Reed, will you accept the price when the time comes?"
Their guide then beckoned them to follow her. They were led to a chamber that was pleasantly warm and had simple foods arrayed before them. Milk, cheese, fish, dried fruit, and stew had been laid out. The stew held some bits of meat, barley, and onions. Arya felt warm again for the first time in weeks.
"If the cave is guarded by those – things, where does this food come from?" Arya asked.
"In the lower caverns, there is a stream with sightless fish. We also have a small flock of goats and can grow things in ways you humans cannot without the aid of the sun."
Arya nodded and ate in silence, wondering what her purpose here was.
***
Robb felt Grey Wind tense as the Hound walked past. It was far better than it had been during their first encounter, when Robb felt bloodlust rising within his breast as Grey Wind snarled and growled, moments away from going for Clegane's throat.
Lady Myrcella had snapped at him and ordered him to control the wolf. Robb had done so, but the tension remained each time the Hound crossed their sight. This, among other things, gnawed at Robb. The whole situation was absurd, but he had to play his role.
His father was going to swear fealty to Jon. The idea of his half-brother – well, cousin – being King was strange to Robb. Jon had always been his lesser in stature at Winterfell, something that had always seemed unfair to Robb. His father's confession about Lyanna and his reasoning for keeping it a secret made sense, but it was still hard for Robb to wrap his head around the whole affair.
But I don't need to; I just need to win.
Aegon Targaryen and Jon Targaryen could not both claim the crown. This Aegon would likely view Jon's claim as treasonous and seek to end him, even if Jon surrendered. Taking the Black was no longer a guarantee that one would not raise banners and declare themselves King, so death would be the only way Aegon could feel secure in his rule.
With that in mind, it made sense for Robb to lend his sword arm to Myrcella's side for the Trial of Seven. If Myrcella won, Aegon would lose his crown. Myrcella, and by extension Tommen, would be more at ease if Jon later abdicated. Robb realized putting his faith in a girl barely three and ten was a gamble, but they had few options. Alternatively, if Aegon lost and abdicated, it was also possible the Targaryen loyalists may then seek Jon as the next in line. In either case, Jon and the North would only be better off by Myrcella winning the Trial of Seven.
Thoughts of the upcoming trial were temporarily set aside as Bran walked over to him. Bran would be splitting off from the Kingsroad and staying in Harrenhal until confirmation that the North's forces had crossed the Neck in full. Being parted from his brother again was not ideal, but it made far more sense than risking him in King's Landing.
"Robb… my dreams. Something is wrong." Robb saw that Bran seemed on the verge of panic.
"Come, let us move away from the camp a bit so we can speak privately."
Originally, Myrcella had Robb heavily guarded, but now that the agreement had been struck, she trusted him enough to give him the run of the camp without escort. They moved away from the tents and cook fires. The heavy patrols could stumble upon them, but Grey Wind and Duty's keen senses would warn them long before anyone would be within earshot.
"Now, tell me, what has troubled you?"
"My dreams, they aren't like my normal ones. I will begin to envision something, but then the vision becomes jagged, distorted, and another takes its place, overpowering it altogether. It happens over and over, and I know what I am not seeing is important."
Robb did not fully know what to make of Bran's dreams, nor did he know what to make of his own abilities. They were the blessings of the Old Gods, but how reliable were they? His ability to sense danger a few moments before it occurred seemed to have done only good, but Bran's visions seemed too abstract and difficult to interpret to say the same.
"Tell me everything you saw."
"My first vision was of King's Landing. I only saw it for a few moments, but there was a dragon and a demon, and right before they clashed, the dream became fragmented and distorted. It was... it was..." Bran struggled to find the words. "It was overpowered by another. A horrible vision. A direwolf, I can't tell which one, but it was dead, and crows were feasting on it. It was awful. I know it was one of ours."
Bran had tears in his eyes. "After that, I had another vision. It was water, an ocean, I think. It was churning and writhing, almost as if it were boiling. A massive wave was approaching a tower, and then… once more, it was replaced by crows eating a wolf."
Robb wasn't sure what any of it meant. Did it mean his or one of his siblings' wolves would soon die? Crows were carrion eaters, but he knew that the Night's Watch were often called crows too. A connection? As for the sea and the tower, he had no idea.
"There were dozens more, but they were just flashes before being replaced by the vision that keeps interrupting the others. A wounded stag charging, crumbling masonry, a falcon taking flight, a burning hound, a green apple being consumed, a field of snow, the ground rumbling and shaking, fields burning, and a river freezing over." Bran took a breath. "I could only see each for an instant before the crows returned to feast on the wolf. So much is missing, Robb, but I know this is important."
Robb embraced his brother. "Bran, I know you are scared, and I know you hoped for answers. But I have none to give you. I'll talk to Myrcella and ask her to double the guard you have when you travel North. I'll send a letter to mother instructing her to keep careful watch over Arya and Rickon, and that they should always keep their wolves nearby. Perhaps that will forestall that gristly fate."
"I worry that the wolf is not a wolf, but you, Robb."
"Me?" Robb was surprised. "But it is a wolf you saw."
"Yes, but my dreams, they aren't always exact like that. You are the one about to fight a trial against some of the greatest knights of the realm. I don't want this to be the last time we see each other."
"What will be, will be. I have no plans on dying, little brother. If I do, I am content in knowing that I died trying to keep my family safe," Robb said solemnly.
"Just be careful."
"I will be." Robb winced. "Not only will I be careful, but I'm also taking Lady Myrcella's 'training' to heart." He laughed. "She's a cruel taskmaster at times. My thighs burn from rising a hundred times a day in full armor. The sellsword Bronn hates our daily drills, but if they help us rise even a fraction of a second faster in a real battle, I see the benefit."
Bran smiled in amusement. "I believe the whole camp has heard Bronn gripe of it. I've watched a bit of the training. You bested Ser Guyard in the spar quite convincingly.'
"He's good, but I'm faster. I suspect he would best me in a joust or mayhaps a duel where we are both mounted, but I'm the better sword."
Though in a real fight, even a horse was unlikely to save Ser Guyard, given the gifts of the Old Gods, but humility costs nothing.
Bran nodded. "You shift your weight to the left before you go for a strong strike. It is noticeable, but probably not in the heat of battle."
Robb blinked in surprise. "I see your time under Ser Barristan has paid off. Will there be a Ser in the family soon?"
"That's the plan. Now promise me you will be around to see my knighting!"
"I promise, Bran."
***
Asha had been summoned by her uncle, the King, shortly before dawn on the day the full might of the Iron Islands would set sail for the Reach. She was told to meet him by the shore, some distance away from the ships. She took Ser Harras with her; there were many grudges among the Ironborn, and having a guard in armor was good backup beside her axe.
As she approached the meeting point, Asha realized that Euron had brought little company Only two other men were with him, one of them bound and gagged on the shore. Euron wore his Valyrian steel armor, and the man holding the captive, who Asha now identified as her brother, Theon, was Ralf of Lordsport. Ralf was a bearded man, and known for his cruelty, though he was a middling fighter.
"Ah, my beloved niece. How it warmed my heart to hear you swear your oaths to your new king. You were so eager and swift." His voice was sickeningly sweet. "Alas, not all bonds of family are so strong."
Asha took a longer look at Theon. His face was battered, with one eye swollen shut. Rags were tied around his mouth, and thick ropes bound his wrists behind his back, with more securing his legs and ankles.
"What is the meaning of this? What has Theon done?"
"It is what he has not done. He refused to swear to me, and even tried to flee. No doubt to return to his kennel like the good pup the Starks raised," Euron said in an amused tone.
"What has that to do with me?"
"You sought the crown for yourself, little Asha. I need assurance of your loyalty. I also need to punish Theon." His blue lips curled in a cruel smile. "What is so oft said – ah yes, Old Gods or New, it makes no matter, no man is so accursed as the kinslayer."
Asha's jaw clenched as a pit grew in her stomach.
"I thought, why not slay two fish with one stone? You kill Theon here, drown him there in the sea before me, and prove your loyalty." His voice was soft, sibilant, and altogether vile, but then abruptly changed to a genial tone, completely different from his normal voice. "Or not, and in that case, I know you cannot be trusted with command. I couldn't let you run free, of course; I'd have to let someone like Ralf keep you as his prisoner."
Ralf licked his lips and Asha well knew her fate if she refused her uncle. She glanced at Ser Harlaw and weighed the odds. Harlaw probably could take Ralf, but could she take her uncle? The man looked utterly relaxed, and Asha knew he had arranged matters exactly so.
If I'm a kinslayer either way…
The thought made her recoil as she heard Theon try to speak from beneath his gag. Asha closed her eyes. She didn't have a choice. Theon was dead either way; this was all just a sick game for the Crow's Eye.
"I'm sorry brother. You should have bent the knee." She turned to face Euron. "I'll do it."
Harlaw stirred, "Asha, you can't…"
"I've made my choice, ser; do not interfere."
Euron gestured and Ralf shoved Theon into the sand. Asha grimaced as Theon tried to struggle in his bonds. She was strong, for a woman, but Theon was full grown now, and he was struggling. Asha grabbed at his legs and dragged him down into the water, about waist deep, as Euron and Ralf followed.
"Breathe out, brother – it will go faster."
But Theon did not. Instead, he inhaled sharply as Asha seized him by the hair and forced his head into the salty water. Bubbles churned and frothed as he struggled to break free. He thrashed, bucked, and sought to roll away. Asha's grip was firm, but the slick water allowed him to slip from her grasp.
Theon's head burst from the water as he gasped for air. Asha fell into the water but, regaining her footing, flew into a rage. She struck him with her fists.
"FUCKING DIE! I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE; YOU ARE DEAD ANYWAY!" Asha screamed as something broke inside of her. She shouldn't be doing this. She couldn't be doing this.
But she had no choice.
She struck her helpless brother a dozen times as he struggled to get away. Soon his face was an even bloodier mess. Asha could hear Ralf laughing at the scene. This time, Asha pulled him up the shore to a shallower spot. She clubbed him several more times until he was certainly concussed at the very least. Then she slammed his head down into the shallow water and straddled his back, holding his face below the surface.
Asha was glad that her face was soaked with the bitter salt water; it hid the tears she shed for the brother she drowned. After a minute, his pitiful struggles stopped. She stayed there for another five to be sure.
"Once more those disturbing little Red Priests prove their powers. I thought you were too soft, or too worried about the Gods to go through with it. Moqorro's visions prove accurate again; I suppose I will allow Victorian his petty vengeance after all."
Asha wasn't sure what her uncle was referencing, nor did she care.
"Are we done here?"
"Yes, go prepare your ship. You've demonstrated your obedience; now show that you can serve me well in battle."
***
Davos watched as his son finished fitting the King into his armor. Stannis always wore a grim look, but today it appeared even grimmer.
"Are the battle commanders prepared?" Stannis asked.
"Yes, Your Grace. Harrold has asked to speak with you one last time."
"Others take him. I've made my decision, but bring him in all the same, let him hear it from my mouth."
The would-be Lord of the Vale entered. "Your Grace, my men are in position, but I must beseech you one final time. This is folly; we still have more banners that can be summoned. Why such a hasty strike?"
The army Stannis had gathered stood at the base of the Giant's Lance, just outside the Gates of the Moon. It was a stout castle, with a moat and squat towers. There were stronger fortifications elsewhere, but it was still more solid than most. Davos knew that once the castle fell, Lady Arryn would either surrender or be left to freeze. Winter would make the Eyrie uninhabitable. If they won here, the Vale would be secured from anyone else who might attempt to unite it.
"There is more than just the Vale to consider. Word has reached us that the Redwyne fleet has passed the Stepstones. I must be with the fleet to ensure victory. More than that, the fleet needs men. We pulled all but the bare minimum from those vessels to bolster our strength in the Vale," Stannis explained, steel in his voice.
The Young Falcon shook his head. "I understand, but your cause is lost if we lose this battle. We have only a slight edge in numbers, and we are assaulting a fortress! We've constructed ladders, but there was no time for proper siege equipment. The rams we've created may not even breach the gate." The young man walked over to the table where one of the maps was laid out. "Your Grace, order your ships away from Gulltown and sail for the Fingers; it will give us another week, time for more reinforcements."
Stannis growled. "Reinforcements? The word of these lords is dross; they likely speak the same promises to Lysa and merely await the outcome. No, we begin the assault within the hour."
The young man looked as if he wished to say more, but merely bowed his head and departed.
"Davos, you will take command of the reserve. I lead the van – should I fall, it will be up to you to pursue Shireen's claim."
"Your Grace, may I speak candidly?"
"It is why you are my Hand."
"This attack, you leading the van, it seems as if you wish to end your participation in this war in the only honorable way you can."
Stannis looked him in the eye. "You think I wish to fall? Then you truly do not know me, my Onion Knight. I have no wish to die before justice is done to all those who have betrayed me. This is necessary. I must be a symbol to my remaining men and the Vale. A hard and bitter symbol that will not hesitate to throw himself into the fiercest fight. Men will never love me, but perhaps I can win their fear."
His King stalked out of the tent, leaving Davos to ponder his words. Stannis was not a man to surrender easily. He had held Storm's End far longer than any other commander would have. He was tougher than boot leather, and once again, Davos felt proud to call him his King.
Let it not be for the last time.