@Abefroeman I guess it'd be about time for Sylvester to stumble into the affairs of the Three Corners. Is there anything I should know about that plot?
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Aufklarung
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Edited the main page to reflect changes in the backstory and the new events.
Here is a brief summary of events in the interim period, but of course more has gone on besides. Chime in with your thoughts please.
I like the overall resolution to the Arryn and Tully stuff.
Let's see what I can chime in with...
Hey, y'all, I'm still here. :3
@MrDidact Perhaaaaaaps. ;P
(Collabs with @MrDidact)
Gates of the Moon
Mychel Arryn did not feign joy at his father's announcement, and did not meet Ser Harrold's glance with anything resembling courtesy. He glowered like only he could, and drank his wine without raising it in even perfunctory cheering.
"Somewhat, my lord?" He smirked bitterly as he spoke. "If my father's folly doesn't end with half the Winged Knights dead and thousands of mountain clansmen marching to the Eyrie, I shall think us miraculous."
The young Arryn rode alongside Tyrion with narrowed eyes and twitching lips, every so often directing both at the party of Winged Knights behind them. A night of deep sleep had done little to deem his resentment, and even Passion's company on his shoulder did little to mitigate that venomous emotion.
As he had prepared to ride, he had shared a few words with the lords of the Vale on his side, sowed the seeds of a safeguard against the madness and stupidity he feared would reign over the proceedings. He only truly trusted a handful of them, but he at least had some faith in their ability to block any attempts by his kinsman to undermine their talks with the Mountain King.
The clansmen riding with him and Tyrion seemed somewhat reluctant to share their knowledge of the man with the 'kneelers', yet some information had slipped through anyway. It was enough to give Mychel a vague idea of where all the parts in this affair stood, a basis for him to think of offers for the rebel leader that might bring them closer to lasting peace.
Tyrion's mention of the gods, however, did bring a smile to his face, and a small bit of reassurance. Maybe the gods, old or new, would indeed help them.
"If the Mountain King has a pragmatic side to him, we might yet compell him to lay down his arms in exchange for his own fiefdom," he said, nodding. "Perhaps a castle and a lordly title will be enough to appease him. But if he insists on his kingship, the best we can hope for is that we will persuade his supporters to abandon him in exchange for the same rewards."
He sighed.
"It would be ideal if Ser Harrold was not personally present during the meeting. Tough he is certainly not lacking in intelligence, he is rich in ambitions. If he sees an opportunity to make himself a conquering hero, he will take it."
Even if it means getting me killed, he thought to himself. Perhaps specially if it gets me killed.
He looked at Tyrion then, and the tales of Tywin Lannister's brilliant though terrible deeds came to his mind again. And those tales soon morphed into something different, something more personal. Disturbed by his own thoughts, he quicked his horse's pace.
"We should make haste, my lord.."
Tyrion nodded, "Indeed, we shall go with all speed. We should be there within a few days. But we must also be on the lookout, in case this is some manner of trap. They say the Mountain King is a warg, and has spies throughout the Mountains. That's how he has managed to evade the Winged Knights thus far. But, an old friend Timmett of Timmett, will meet us there. With his support, perhaps this will work out well for us."
They travelled through the Mountains of the Moon, watchful for any signs of a surprise attack. They met with no incident however, and luckily the tensions among the eclectic delegation did not flare into any open conflict. Eventually, after a long slog of a climb up a cold mountain, they reached the sumitt and were met with a surprising site, an old nearly ruined stone fortress with a wooden pallisade wall commanding the approach. It looked like a fortification of the First Men.
At the gate a burly clansmen appeared, in oddments and scraps of rusty armor, "Who the fuck are you?"
Tyrion gestured for Mychel to speak, "Your show, Mychel. Let's make a good impression."
With a nod, Mychel climbed down from his mount, Passion perched still on his shoulder, and took a couple of firm steps forward, hands made into stiff fists by his sides.
"I am Mychel, son of Robin, and I come to pay my respects to the Mountain King and speak on equal terms with him, as an envoy of the King in the Iron Throne, Jon, son of Rhaegar, and the Queen in the Iron Throne, Daenerys, daughter of Aerys."
He gestured to the party of knights, lords and clansmen behind him.
"My people are here to make peace with yours, and right whatever wrongs we may have inflicted on each other. May we enter as your honored guests and break bread with one another as peers?"
The mountain man absorbed all of this in silence, his brow furrowed in strained comprehension as he scratched himself and said, "Uh... I s'ppose you the lot the King is waiting for. Go in, but watch yourselves, bloody kneelers."
Mychel could not help but chuckle, even as some of the knights and lords behind him scoffed.
He shouted behind him and the gate was pushed open by several tribesmen, Tyrion nodded at Mychel and the column rode in. There were scores of mountain men here, hundreds even. A ramshackle village on the summit of the mountain, in the ruins of this fort. Children pointed and stared at the lords and clansmen riding in, and several hid or cursed the men riding by. The clansmen with the entourage looked almost as wary as the Valemen, and several of the villagers clutched weapons at the ready. The Hand of the King smiled and waved, and several whispered amongst themselves, obviously talking about the infamous halfman. Tyrion brightened when he saw Timmett and the two exchanged grips enthusiastically, before the old friend joined them with his Burned Men.
Eventually they reached the middle of the village, where a giant runed stone appeared. All manner of swirling First Man patterns were carved into the stone and at it's foot was a throne of animal bone and wood. The Mountain King sat there, with his crown of bone and a large shadowcat laid at his feet. The Mountain King was garbed in a bear skin cloak, and several scavenged plates of armor. A stolen longsword was sheathed next to him. And he couldn't have been any older than Mychel. That give even Tyrion pause, though he didn't show it.
The youthful barbarian chieftain looked at the delegation with clear, blue eyes. His blonde hair sheared short. He had a surprisingly clean face, though it was angular and sharp. Tyrion suspected the boy was some abducted noblewoman's son. The Mountain King remained seated, his warriors gathering behind him and he said, "I am Cronun, son of Hunin, Chieftain of the Redsmiths, High Chieftain of the Clans, and the true King of the Mountain."
Tyrion said, "I am Tyrion, son of Tywin. Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord of the West. Hand of the King on the Iron Throne." He paused to let all the other notables announce themselves, including all of his friends among the clans which they did so with boisterous applomb.
Mychel kept it much simpler, more preoccupied with trying to determine Cronun's lineage, and silently speculating about his age and how he had risen to that throne so young, than with boasting.
"King Cronun, I am Mychel, son of Robin of the Eyrie. My father, and his father before him, may have been your people's sworn enemies, but I come as a friend seeking only peace, for my people and yours."
From his shoulder, Passion screeched, and Mychel wondered whether there was any meaning to it as he pet her head.
Cronun leaned his head on one fist and said, "Aye, your kneeler friends called for this meeting. I was bored of listening to this rabble here, so I thought why not? Might be an amusement."
Mychel grinned. "I hope to please you, then."
He stared intensely at Mychel, "I have three thousand warriors at my command. All the loyal clansmen," He shot a glare at Tyrion's companions, including Timmett of Timmett, "Enough to raid for years on end. You haven't gotten rid of us yet. And we aren't going anywhere. Why is peace in my interests? And on what terms?"
"You are King of the Mountain, a title which you must have earned through your own feats rather than right of blood, unlike many of us... kneelers," he said, guiding Passion to rest on his forearm as he gave a small bow. "So have the King and Queen in the Iron Throne. They both paid the blood price for the right to rule the continent. If you wish to challenge them both for the right to reign over the mountains, we will convey that message... but you must know by know what such a clash between kings would entail."
He paused, and turned to look at the loyal clansmen gathered around their king.
"Many among us kneelers would perfer that, and even those who would not might object to another king in this continent," he continued. "However, you and your people could still earn a place of power in this continent, a place worthy of my people's respect, provided you were willing to forgo the title of king for another. You could still rule the mountains as your fief, and sit on your very own throne, but instead you might call yourself, perhaps, a Lord Paramount, like my father and Tyrion, son of Tywin. Or perhaps a Prince, like the rulers of Dorne. I would not force you to kneel before the King and Queen, but only to acknowledge their well-earned right to be the only kings in this continent. Your people's traditions would not be threatened, I can guarantee you, and whatever land we grant you would be granted in perpetuity."
His grin turned into a softened smile.
"Now, if you have any specific demands, I will gladly hear them, and terms are always negotiable... within reason."
Cronun frowned in thought, mulling over Mychel's words. Several of the knights and lords present shifted in the saddle. It probably did not please them to hear talk of yielding lands to the mountain men or granting their king a title on the same level as Lord Robin or Tyrion. Most probably expected Mychel to ask for an oath of fealty as well. There was some quiet grumbling, specially from Ser Harrold and his Winged Knights. Tyrion kept his silence, his thoughts impenetrable for the nonce.
The Mountain King said, "Generous terms. Almost suspiciously so if you ask me," He spit on the ground, "We have no lords or Princes. Only Kings and Chieftains. You may have turned the wildlings into kneelers, but I will not allow any man of the clans to call himself a lord. Only a chief. If I accept, I will be High Chieftain of the Mountains of the Moon just as your Tormund Giantsbane is High Chieftain of the Free Folk. All will be chiefs under me. No lords like that Lord Thenn."
"I think that is a fair demand, King Cronun," answered Mychel. "I did say that your people's traditions would not be threatened. You may call yourself High Chieftain of the Mountains of the Moon, and your chiefs may still call themselves chiefs, and you may all worship your gods freely."
He grimaced, "Your dragon king and dragon queen are strong aye. But if the tales are true, then there are other kings rising. A King in the deserts. A King in the islands. You haven't defeated them yet. Are you scared of us perhaps? That you would offer us so much?" He put a particular snarling emphasis on the word offer and several of the clansmen behind him laughed.
"I was born and raised in this land, King Cronun," said Mychel with a chuckle. "I know the strength of your people.. so yes, I personally do fear you somewhat. But the King and Queen? They do not know or fear you. Not truly. They defeated the Night's King and his army of the dead, and three thousand warriors are not a great threat to their rule.
"But you are right that there are other kings rising. And every man who dies fighting your people is a man that could have fought against the Iron Throne's true foes. While my father's warriors fight your warriors, monsters rise from the deep and attack our shores. Your war against us doesn't frighten us, but it is wasting our time and resources. Now, from your words, I think you must be rather shrewd, so you must know that, if the greater wars are lost, whatever victories you get against my people will be futile.
He paused, and looked at Passion, the falcon staring back at him intently.
"Your people are the ancestral inhabitants of this land," he said after a time. "Though you have wronged my people, you do have a claim to the land we share. I would not expell you from it, or force you to serve my fellow lords of the Vale. If you want to be our equals, you can be our equals, and stand beside us, if not as friends, then at least as respectful neighbours."
Cronun listened and his brow furrowed in thought. Tyrion looked around and saw that all of the clansmen had gathered around. Some seemed surly and angry at their presence, others seemed pensive. Finally Cronun said, "Your fellow kneelers don't seem like the type to think of us as neighbors. But I will think on what you say. I must speak with all the other chiefs now. Your... friends can join, as is their right as men of the mountain. We will talk amongst ourselves. As to what the First Men of the Mountains will do. Peace or continued war. And on what terms. This may take a long while, perhaps days, and as such, once we come to you with terms, they will be final. Our only offer. In the meantime, you will camp outside the village, and keep the peace. Once we have reached a decison, we will call upon you."
"Then, before we part, there is but one more term of ours you must hear," said Mychel, taking a step closer to the young king. "If you and your chiefs are to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, you must share bonds of blood with us. At least one son or daughter of each chief must marry a lord or lady... as must you, King Cronun."
That got a reaction as well. All of the clansmen began muttering to each other and not a knight there didn't glance askance at his comrade or tighten his jaw in surprised anger. Cronun was even taken a bit aback, though he recovered quickly, with an arrogant laugh, "I already do share blood with the kneelers, Black Falcon. But I will think on this as well. You're a pretty one, mayhaps I will put you in skirts and take you to wife." All of the clansmen laughed with him.
The heir to the Vale blushed, his smile turned sheepish, but he chuckled along and allowed himself a slightly sultry look for the Mountain King.
"The King of the Mountain flatters me. A pity that it's clearly in jest," said he with mischief in his blue eyes. "Were that a serious proposal, it could be a solution to our troubles, could it not? Cronun and Mychel, doubly legitimate rulers of the Vale..."
Tyrion whispered to Mychel, "Best we take our leave soon. I fear if we stay much longer, they may not be in such good spirits." The Shadowcat at Cronun's feet eyed Tyrion with a gaze that looked much too hungry for his liking.
Mychel nodded at Tyrion, and gave the king a small bow.
"But I thank you for your consideration. I will await your call in the meantime."
Turning back to the Hand of the King, he whispered to the older man, and began to walk the way back, out of the village. "You are right, although I am more concerned about the Valemen's reaction than the clansmen's. The king and his chiefs seemed to be enjoying themselves, even if it was at our expense. Laughter is not a bad start for negotiations..."
He spared a look for his allied lords and the Winged Knights, and saw an awful lot of thinly veiled glares directed at him.
"And now I fear I may have overstepped in my eagerness," he said, mostly to himself. "I will have to spend some time speaking to the Valemen, see how deeps the wounds to their pride are. This peace will be worthless if the lords are suddenly eager to undermine it."
The Hand of the King smiled slightly, "We're luck Lord Harrold didn't draw steel right there, the way Cronun paid insults to them. But not to worry. I told Timmett and all the others of the more favorable terms and concessions we desire. And they will talk and fight strenously for them. Mark my words, when Cronun finally gives us his offer, days though it may take, your bannermen will find it much more palpable. We just have to make sure they stay mollified until then. You did well with Cronun."
He glanced back at Cronun. "He is a bit immature... although, then again, so am I... but there is a sensibility to him. Maybe these negotiations will bear fruit."
He left it unsaid that he was fascinated by the king on a more personal level. His looks gave Mychel a suspicion that he could not quite put in words, as did his mannerisms. He was a clansman, yes, but more lingered underneath.
"If you had to guess, Lord Tyrion, which noble family would you say he probably shares blood with?"
Tyrion smirked and stared at Mychel with his own black and green eyes, "Why, Mychel, if I had to guess.... I would say he had the blood of the falcon."
The Blue Fork - Near Oldstones
Mylenos was clearly troubled by the sight of the mysterious knights through the carriage's small window, yet it seemed to have little effect on Catelyn Tully. The young lady of Riverrun only stared at them through the falling raindrops and light mist, and listened to the first knight's threatening demand. The heavy rain and thick vegetation made it difficult to ascertain how many more knights were blocking her retinue's path, but she suspected her protectors were outnumbered. Although she trusted Valerys' skills, and those of her lord father's knights, it looked to her like it would be a painful, bloody battle.
Beside her, Septon Donnel sat quietly in his wet clothes, cradling in his hands an empty vial of what he thought to be an antidote to poison. The remembrance of what that meant somewhat diminished her willingness to fight for her prisoner, even if it did not make her any more eager to simply submit and hand him and his letters over. But as she looked once again at Mylenos, all possibility of slaughter vanished.
"Who are they?" She asked the septon, and there was no pretense of soft, lady-like kindness this time. All the contrary, her voice was cold like the air in this rainy morning. Across from her, Mylenos' hand lingered over a particular space under his cloak, where she knew he kept his dagger.
"You can see their colors, lady Tully," answered the older man, and his eyes showed even greater fear than Mylenos' did.
"They are the colors of an extinct house," said she, turning back to the world outside the carriage, looking at the knights impassively. Within, however, she was brimming with sentiments that ranged from worry to curiosity.
Septon Donnel sighed. "It was foolish of you to take me from my flock."
"Gloating, are we?" she said without looking, letting out an almost bemused scoff.
"You would think he was holding us hostage, the good septon," said Mylenos, the amusement in his voice almost tangibly nervous.
Valerys appeared beside her window, his spear in hand, the silver in his hair darkened by the water. The fleeting thought that he looked particularly handsome like this passed through Catelyn's mind, undermined immediately by what awaited beyond.
"Cat, what do we do?" He asked.
She looked him in his red eyes, then turned her own blue orbs to the knights in House Fisher's colors. She did not hesitate.
"We definitely do not fight them," she answered, placing her hand on the window's frame and leaning out. "We speak with them. Their threat is just a threat for now, and we need not spill blood if they are clearly willing to ask for our cooperation before bearing their steel."
The Knight spoke again, "What is your answer, my lady? Shall we conclude this business in peace and part safely? Or do you intend to refuse us? I tell you, we will not leave without the Septon, and we will do you no harm, but I cannot promise the safety of your companions if arms are raised against us."
"Valerys," she said to the Volantene knight, "move away. I am going out to speak with them."
Her lover gave her a look that was as shocked as it was apprehensive, until it relented under her own. And he nodded as he stepped away.
Wordlessly, the daughter of Edmure Tully climbed down from her carriage, paying no mind to the countless raindrops that fell on her, and immediately began to all but march towards the knights. The mud covered her shoes and dress, tarnishing the once pure silver, but she paid no mind to this either. Instead, her attention was entirely fixated on the knight.
"I would hear your name before I agree to anything, ser," she said, her voice as strong as it had been when she had spoken before the people of Fairmarket. It cut through the sounds of the rain and the wind.
"If you are going to make demands and threaten a lady of the Riverlands, you should at least have the decency not to do that under the cowardly veil of anonimity... ser."
The knight on his horse said nothing, until he went down from the saddle and approached Catelyn, before standing in front of her and removing his helm. He couldn't have been much older than her. The young knight had night black hair and green eyes, as green as the trees surrounding them. He was clean cut, his hair cropped short, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, "I am Ser Cullen Fisher. Of the dynasty of Fisher Kings. Lords of the Misty Isle."
Catelyn made a perfunctory curtsy, though her eyes seemed to be intently studying the knight's face.
"It is not every day that one meets a knight from a long dead dynasty that left no direct heirs who could legitimately claim the family name," she said, with a bit of humor in her tone. "Nevertheless, I thank you for introducing yourself, Ser Cullen."
He dipped his head and bowed, "My lady. I repeat my request to you. Relinquish the septon into our custody. And we can part amicably. You have my word of honor that none will be harmed if you accept."
"Septon Donnel is an honored guest of mine, ser," she responded, hands intertwined on her front as she stood firm before him. "If possible, I should like to know why I must part with him before I place him in your custody. You give me your word of honor, but how can I know that it is the word of an honorable man?"
Cullen looked into her eyes and said, "Septon Donnel, and many others committed a crime, a grave injustice in our name. Several in fact. Our lord has called for justice against those that would sully our name. We bring Donnel to face our lord's justice."
He nodded and said, "I can't expect you to trust my word immediately." He removed his gauntlet and the glove and raised the hand to face her, before drawing a dagger slowly and cutting his palm, "A blood oath, the old way, the way of our ancestors. I cannot break my word on pain of death." With that he loosened his sword from his sheath and replaced the dagger, offering the sword to Catelyn, "If I break my vow, then my life is forfeit and you may strike me down. I would sooner bare my neck for it than live in dishonor. I swear it by all the gods."
The justiciar was visibly taken aback by the knight's display, and remained silent for a time, gazing into his green eyes and watching his blood drip down his hand in turns. Eventually, she took ahold of the sword being offered, examining the blade and hilt with narrowed, softened blue eyes.
"Some people say words are wind," Catelyn said at last, although not necessarily to the knight. "But most of those people do not claim to follow the old way."
She raised her face towards his. "Though these circumstances cause me grave concern, and some offense, I will accept your blood oath, Ser Cullen."
Cullen smiled slightly and bowed his head once more, "I thank you, my lady. The tales told of you are true. Both of your righteousness and your beauty."
With another small curtsy, she took a step back.
"Should we cross paths again, ser..." she began, her voice hardening with resolution and cool, noble dignity once more, masking her wonder and unease at this strange encounter. "...and should I then find that you have broken your vow... I will strike you down, as the old way, and my duty as justiciar, demand."
Cullen met her gaze evenly, "If I break my vow to you, then I would demand you do the same."
She then turned to her retinue, and saw that the Maegyr brothers were just as apprehensive as she felt, if the wide-eyed looks on their faces were anything to go by. Seeing them like that reminded her why, above all else, she had chosen not to fight.
"Valerys, bring Septon Donnel to us!" Shouted Catelyn. Valerys was still at first, obviously baffled by her words, but he complied soon enough. The middle-aged septon came down from her carriage and began to walk towards Ser Cullen and her. She could not fully comprehend the expression on his face, though she imagined terror made up a part of it.
"Ser Cullen," she spoke without looking at the knight, "if your intention truly is to punish him for his crimes, that is... acceptable, although duty commands that I be the one to pass the sentence and see it carried out."
The knight nodded, "I understand what your duty commands. But you have my oath that Donnel will be punished."
She paused, pensive, as the raindrops slide down her cheek, and gave the knight a sideways look.
"What I cannot accept is that whoever put this man and his... flock... in a position to hurt so many innocent people might not be held responsible for it."
Turning to him, she handed him his sword back.
"So I would ask of you, Ser Cullen," she said coldly, "that you tell your lord that his actions, however well-intentioned, will not be ignored. I just had to bury a family and a boy because someone, in your lord's name, decided that young love and lack of devotion were deserving of brutal murder. If the monsters who have been burning homes and slaughtering our people did so under your lord's authority, then he is not without blame, and no blood oath will keep me from doing justice."
The Fisher Knight looked into Catelyn's eyes again, and if she looked closely, she might have seen a flash of approval, he tapped his fist against his chest and bowed his head, "I will relay your message to my lord. He is doing everything in his power to punish those that have committed such atrocities."
Cullen straightened, "And he understands that you will do what you feel you must. But so will he, and our house will not submit meekly I am afraid. I hope you keep this meeting in mind however, and are not so quick to desire our heads. We wish your father and the King and Queen to know that there is a way to settle these issues without violence."
"I cannot speak for the Iron Throne," said Catelyn. "But it is a lesson I learned long ago, Ser Cullen, and one that I will not soon forget."
Ser Fisher gestured to his men and they took Donnel into custody, binding his hands and leading him to a horse. Cullen turned to Catelyn and said, "I will take him to our lord, and he will be judged for his crimes. I will say it was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquantince. Your courtesy and sense of justice are matched only by your elegance and beauty. I hope that if we meet again, it will be in better surroundings."
He bowed his head once more, "House Fisher gives its regards to House Tully." He gestured once more and another knight brought up a chest, opening it to reveal a heap of coin, Cullen said, "For the families of the victims, a sign of our sorrow over the tragic loss of life." The knight placed the chest on the ground and stepped back to the horses.
If Catelyn was impressed by the contents of the chest, she concealed it.
"Coin is a poor substitute for the tears and comforting words of the truly sorrowful," she mused aloud. "But it may help those who survived to rebuild, and for that you have my gratitude."
Cullen donned his helm, "Farewell, Lady Catelyn. May the gods watch over you."
She curtsied one last time for him. "And you, Ser Cullen."
The lady of the Riverlands watched him and his party of mysterious knights disappear into the mist and rain. Even as they departed, she could not guess their true numbers.
For a while, silence reigned in that little corner of the Riverlands, as Catelyn Tully stood in the mud, watching the storm-blurred horizon. Valerys approached her slowly, his gloved hand caressing her shoulder, while Mylenos stayed a few feet behind. She gave the younger Maegyr a brief, meaningful look, though mostly focused on the older one. He seemed the most shaken.
"My lady... Cat..." He whispered, and the worry in his voice was palpable. It made her want to kiss him, but instead she gently pushed him aside.
"We must return to Riverrun as soon as possible, Ser Valerys," she said as she walked past him and back to her carriage. "My lord father will need my counsel in these trying times, and I have been gone long enough.
"Cat," said Mylenos, his voice firmer than his brother's. "The septon..."
"He is twice dead," she spewed, far more viciously than she would have preferred, even if Valerys could not hear it, and retreated into the dark enclosure of her carriage. Never before had she found such a thing comforting, yet now she felt she desperately needed it.
Outside, the rain kept pouring down onto the earth.
Riverrun
From his triangular solar, the Lord of Riverrun watched the Red Fork run its course as the rain pounded its surface and the mist concealed the farms and woods beyond. Somewhere in that place, his older son and heir was riding forth, on yet another journey to the Gods Eye and the Isle of Faces. He probably would not see his Sylvester for many weeks, and although he knew he meant well, Lord Edmure Tully could not help but yearn to see him return right then. Whatever helpful wisdom or spells Sylvester could learn from the children in the Isle of Faces, Edmure needed him here now, back home with his family and soldiers.
Edmure Tully stood on the balcony in full armor, as did his good friend, Lord Marq Piper of Pinkmaiden, behind him. He had only taken his armor off to sleep, and might have slept in it as well had not his sweet Roslin beaten some sense into him. Perhaps he did not truly need to spend every waking hour waiting for war to come to the Riverlands once more, yet the events in King's Landing made it difficult to believe otherwise.
"Marq, please leave us," suddenly came Roslin's voice from within the solar, breaking Edmure from his reverie. He looked at them both, his old friend and his lady wife, and nodded meekly, eyes still drawn to the misty woods Slyvester had ridden into. He barely heard the sound of the door of the solar closing.
"Edmure, my love," said Roslin, her graceful little fingers reaching for his bearded jaw, his small lips pressing against his cheek.
"Does it not worry you at all?" He asked her without looking.
"He is a man grown," she answered, "and we are not at war yet."
"The king might call onto me at any moment," said the Lord Paramount, allowing himself a small sigh. "I cannot afford to be idle."
He finally turned to her, and gazed into her brown eyes before kissing her chastely.
"And my men need to see that their lord is standing strong and ready."
"Standing in your balcony in full armor and staring into the mist is not strength, Edmure," she said, and it was perhaps the gentlest scolding she had ever given him. "It's fear, and if it consumes you, it will kill you a lot sooner than any sea monster will."
"It's not just the monsters..."
"I know, Edmure," she interrupted.
"We may not be at war, Roslin... but the piles of corpses and the burning villages? There are more and more of them with each passing day. Nobody is invading us, yet my people are dying by the hundreds and the land is turning to ashes."
He looked at where the farms were, on the other side of the Red Fork, and remembered how, not a week after returning from King's Landing, hundreds of common folk had walked through those fields and begged for help from the edge of Riverrun's moat. Someone had raided various orchards near the Twins, and a pair of dosh khaleen had been found brutalized outside of Saltpans. Not long after, another crowd had come, this time because beasts were attacking pilgrims in the River Road. And then there were the Freemen Brotherhood and the hunters of Red Priests, seemingly everywhere at once yet invisible when his knights set out to find them.
Edmure often felt that he was fighting a hundred unsung wars, even as his bannermen assured him that the worst had long since passed, and that the Riverlands had not seen such peace and prosperity since his father's early rule.
"I do not scold you for caring about these terrible things, my love," said Roslin. "I scold you for doing unnecessary, pointless things, pretending that they help. Wearing your armor here and now is an empty gesture. You are leading your people well without it."
He said nothing, eyes downcast. His gauntled hand rested on her swelling stomach, and the whisper of a smile formed in his lips.
"How fares our child?"
"Wonderfully," she whispered against his lips and kissed him. "And I know you will keep him or her safe, along with the rest of us."
The Lord and Lady of Riverrun leaned into each other, their noses brushing against one another, and basked in that quiet moment while it lasted, which was not long. Within a few relaxed sighs, the heard a soft knocking on the solar's door, followed by the door opening and the voice of their eldest child.
"Father, mother," said Catelyn, walking into the solar with her mud-stained dress and rain-soaked hair. Even then she managed to look dignified and graceful. She curtsied a few feet before reaching them, then held each of them in succession, her embrace as loving as always.
"My sweet Cat, we missed you," said her mother, kissing both her cheeks between giggles, "The storm showed no mercy to you, I see. What news do you bring from the Blue Fork?"
"The festival of Fairmarket was beautiful," said Catelyn, smiling at her mother. "Father and you would have greatly enjoyed yourselves there..."
"What of the roads, Cat? Were they safe?" Her father interrupted.
"The roads were no trouble, father," she answered, "but the people of Fairmarket do live in fear of outlaws. And there is another matter, larger and more complicated..."
"Speak, Cat," said her mother. "If it is important, pleasantries can wait."
Catelyn did not hesitate.
"I need Sylvester to go to Fairmarket and imprison Septon Hendry," she said as she produced a few letters from her dress, the parchment still mostly dry. "And others. Some of them might already have been killed, but those who remain need to be brought here for judgement."
Her father stood still and impassive, staring at the letters in her hands.
"Where did those letters come from?" He asked.
"The Elder Brother of the monastery near Oldstones," said Catelyn. "He gave them to me after he confessed to taking part in a conspiracy of sparrows and anointed knights to slaughter countless Riverlanders in the name of the Seven."
"And where is this Elder Brother now?" Asked her father, taking one of the letters in hand, idly passing his finger along the writing in it.
"He was taken from us," said Catelyn, her voice taking the tone of someone who was telling an ancient fable, and her eyes gaining a far-off look. "A knight who called himself Ser Cullen Fisher appeared before us on the road with a band of fellow knights dressed in the colors of the Fishers of Misty Isle."
She glanced down at the letters she was still holding. "He threatened me into handing him over; claimed that the septon would be judged and punished by his lord for his crimes. We were outnumbered, so I had to allow it."
Her face adopted a remorseful expression, and her father responded by kindly patting her on the shoulder.
"Sylvester has gone to the Isle of Faces," he said. "No raven will reach him. But I will send some knights to Fairmarket regardless."
Catelyn nodded in agreement. "If we are fortunate, nothing will impede them from bringing Septon Hendry to Riverrun, and we might learn more from him."
Roslin looked back and forth between father and daughter, her brown gaze thoughtful, before nodding herself.
"Alright, that is one problem swiftly solved," she said, hands cradling her stomach. "Now, I would like my lord husband to take off his armor and put on a proper doublet, and my daughter to put on a clean dress. You both have matters to attend to that require you to look presentable, which neither of you does at this moment."
Lord Edmure sighed, though there was some laughter in his voice. "Very well, Roslin."
"Perhaps I should go to King's Landing," Catelyn suddenly declared, her voice and expression imbued with calm determination.
Her father and mother started.
"Why?" Asked her mother.
"To inform the King and Queen on the state of affairs in the Riverlands," she explained. "The more we try to stamp out each and every fire, the more they all spread. I could personally try and sentence a hundred outlaws, and five hundred more would be rampaging up and down the Trident within a fortnight."
"Cat..." Her father began to say.
"I found and captured a septon responsible for the deaths of many innocents, and before I could bring him here, someone even more powerful came and took him away."
She handed the rest of the letters to her father.
"Some of these bands of outlaws are just that," she said, "but others... they are part of a larger problem. And with all that has happened... here, in the Riverlands... in King's Landing... I cannot help but feel that we are looking at something that exceeds my current grasp, and I cannot accept that."
She held her father's armored wrist in a comforting grip. "Your, your knights and Sylvester can deal with the fighting. As a justiciar, I am all but useless against them, and I fear I may not be able to single-handedly bring an end to vast conspiracies, and major threats to our land and our people, from my carriage, from this solar, or from the gallows."
"So instead you will play the raven?" Asked her mother, her voice and expression calm, stroking her cheek. Although she was markedly shorter than her daughter, it seldom looked like it to Catelyn, and this was true now as well. "What can you hope to achieve in that place?"
"We don't have a seat in the Small Council, but father is still the Lord Paramount of the Trident," answered Catelyn, releasing her father's wrist to hold her mother's. "And we have friends in the Iron Throne. There are people who might listen to me and lend me their help. And if something larger is at play here, I suspect that its roots are somewhere out there."
"I know you loathe to leave the Riverlands, Cat," said Roslin, "but if you truly believe that this is your best path forwards..."
"Clearly, I can no longer rely solely on my authority as father's justiciar here," she finished, and there was peace in her voice. "All of this chaos, this violence, it won't end from my riding from town to town, castle to castle, and judging thieves, rapers and murderers. I must do more if I am to truly help, mother."
Her father nodded silently, while her mother only looked at them both.
"She's right," said her father at last, a sorrowful but resigned look in his eyes. "You will take with yourself a larger retinue, for safety's sake, but you will go to King's Landing and do your duty for the Riverlands and your family."
"Yes, father," said Catelyn. "Thank you."
"Melissa is sensible and has learned much from you," continued the Lord Paramount. "She will make a fine justiciar in your absence."
"I'll make sure I leave her with much good advise, that she may be better than fine."
"Valerys and Mylenos should go with you," said Roslin. "You trust them more than anyone, and you will need people you can trust in King's Landing. Your Stark relatives know this to be true."
Catelyn did not protest, although there was a single, subtle twitch in the corner of her mouth at her mother's words.
"King's Landing is teeming with sellswords and spies; schemers, opportunists and traitors abound," said Catelyn, her fingers absendmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, her nerves getting the best of her for once. "They would not be safe there."
"Cat," said her mother as she held her fidgeting hand, "they have survived worse. And you know they will want to go with you even if you refuse."
Catelyn Tully audibly swallowed a lump in her long, pale throat, and blew air out through her fine nose. For an instant no longer than the blink of an eye, she appeared afraid, but cold determination returned to her beautiful features soon.
"I will take Valerys with me," she said, "but not Mylenos. I will not imperil both of them."
"Alright, my sweet Cat," said her mother. "I will go and tell the cooks that we are holding a farewell feast tonight. I imagine you will want to depart as soon as possible, and make haste to King's Landing. I know you loathe prolongued expectations."
"You know me well, mother."
Roslin Frey kissed her daughter's cheeks again, and then she was gone from the solar, her father watching her with blue eyes filled with adoration. Catelyn remained pensive, her own blue eyes losing themselves in the mist her father had been staring at.
"Cat," her father said after a time, breaking her from her reverie. "Be careful in that nest of vipers. Better, wiser men than I fared poorly in their midst, and you are my daughter. My firstborn."
Catelyn turned to him, and her eyes had a mist of their own.
"When I was a child, I thought I had the bravest, strongest, wisest father in the world," she told him, a warm smile on her rosy lips. "Yet I lived in fear because, from this balcony, I watched you ride into the wilderness, over and over, to fight against one of the countless threats our house faced. Every time, I knew not whether you would return."
Her hand rested on the cold, wet stone of the balcony's edge, and she listened to the roaring river underneath.
"And when you named me justiciar, my very core was shaking, because I did not know if I could match you, if I could face what you faced. I was so young, so inexperienced..."
She stepped away from the edge, hands slowly unraveling her braid of red hair, until her long mane framed her comely face and spilled over her shoulders
"Do you remember what you said to me then?" She asked him. "What words of yours gave me the determination to defy my fears and do my duty?"
She paused, but he did not answer. He only returned her smile.
"They were not our house's words, which I had known by heart for the longest of times," she carried on. "They were your very own words. You said that I had already surpassed you by being born, for you were a summer child, whereas I had been conceived in a massacre and born during the Long Night, in the midst of enemies who sought to make our house extinct, like those of the river kings of old."
The mist of her eyes thickened.
"You said that, although Sylvester would be a great warrior someday, he would never enjoy a victory as sweet as mine own," she continued, her smile widened. "I had already faced the worst that this world could offer, and defeated their ill intentions before I even learned how to speak. Because I was your daughter, the Tully that should not have existed, the Tully that proved our house would not fade...
"When you said that, I resolved that I would continue to be that Tully. I would look in the eyes of evil and challenge it with every tool at my disposal."
Their Tully eyes met, and she saw glimpses of mist in her father's.
"I promised to myself that would dedicate my life to uprooting each and every threat to your peace, and your successors' peace. For our family, for our duty, and for our honor."
With a shared nod between father and daughter, Catelyn Tully left the solar, leaving a faint trail of mud behind herself, the wet silver of her dress still glittering in the faint sunlight.
King's Landing
The weeks of travel had left Catelyn Tully drained in body and spirits, though she suspected it had not been the journey alone. Valerys had kept her good, close company, however, and his passionate attentions had been a true balm for her humor, even if they had left her with unseemly red marks on her collarbones. ewFortunately, she knew she could trust her dresses to conceal them well in the presence of the court.
Their love kept hiden by the walls and drapes of her carriage, Catelyn and Valerys held each other and playfully kissed as the Tully retinue passed through the Dragon Gate, the silver trout raised high above the city's lively crowds. Even as she relished her Volantene lover's affections, she was aware of the many tongues being spoken outside their little moving haven, and could faintly smell the many odors of the great capital, from the spices being sold by foreign traders to the filth being thrown onto the streets by the common folk in their Crownlander accents.
"Cat, can you hear them?" Valerys whispered to her between kisses, his silver hair as disheveled as hers.
"Yes," she answered, barely parting her lips from his. "We have arrived... again..."
"I so wish you and I could walk these streets together, as a pair..."
"Were this Fairmarket or Maidenpool, I would do so shamelessly," she said, hand cradling his fair face. "But this is not a safe city. Not for you, nor for me. Discretion will be paramount."
"You Westerosi nobles and your discretion..." He half-jested, a little chuckle in his voice, before gently biting down on her lower lip and sliding its tongue along its increasingly reddened surface.
"You could always steal me away," she japed back, and bit his lip harder in retaliation. "Make yourself a pirate lord, and I your courtesan, your concubine."
"I've never enjoyed sailing, sadly," he responded with a grin.
The Tully retinue advanced almost unhindered, passing through the Street of Silk, by the Dragonpit on Rhaenys' Hill. It moved past Flea Bottom, and reached the Red Keep followed by a small gaggle of begging folk. The crowd faltered in their pursuit as they reached the castle's main gate, faced with the gold cloaks that guarded, although Catelyn heard her knights throwing coin at the people.
A group of gold cloaks received her and her retinue with practiced courtesy, one of them offering a hand for her to climb down from her carriage, which she took. A serving girl came forward then, dressed in the colors of House Targaryen, and led her into Maegor's Holdfast, to her own personal quarters in the keep, Valerys and her knights following close behind.
A while later, after washing up, braiding her hair once again and changing into a new silver dress, Catelyn Tully and her beloved Valerys were ready for what would come next. With the Volantene knight escorting her in his steel-scaled leather and silk armor, she walked out of her quarters and out the holdfast, and made the journey through the great castle's passages and courtyards to the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne awaited.
The great oak-and-bronze doors of the hall opened before her once more, a sight she could never quite get accustomed to, and she took her first steps onto the carpet that connected the entrance with the iron dais upon which the Iron Throne sat. A booming voice announced her before the entire court, and countless noble eyes turned towards her and her foreign companion.
Catelyn Tully walked along the carpet, towards the Iron Throne, with grace and cool dignity, her skirts billowing lightly in the air behind her, while the light from the high, narrow windows on the eastern and western walls caused the silver thread and pearls of her dress to glitter. Valerys followed closely, from the sound of it. She would not look back, but only forward, as she approached.
King Jon and Queen Daenerys Targaryen sat upon their seats, regarding Catelyn warmly. Daenerys smiled and said, "Catelyn Tully. Be welcome to the Red Keep, the hospitality of House Targaryen is yours. I am sure the prince and princesses will be pleased to see you."
Catelyn curtsied and smiled back at her queen. "You have my thanks your grace. I look forward to seeing the princes and princesses once more."
Jon also smiled, "I trust that Lord Edmure and the rest of your family fare well. We had not expected you again so soon after the wedding however. What brings you to King's Landing, Catelyn?"
"All of House Tully fares well, your grace," she answered, curtsying to him as well. "I did not expect to return so soon either, specially in such short notice, but pressing matters have forced me to."
She bowed lightly, and when she spoke again, she did so in what her youngest sister called her 'political voice', the voice of someone who did not just speak, but made proclamations.
"It pains me to say so, your grace," she said, "but although my house is safe and in good health, terror lurks in the Riverlands again. My lord father understands that the crown is concerned with far greater threats to the peace than petty banditry, yet since the royal wedding, your grace, we have uncovered most troubling truths and seen the rise of new difficulties, for which a mere justiciar like myself is ill-suited, and which exceeds my lord father's reach."
She glanced around herself, at the many knights, lords and ladies gathered around, and turned once more to the king and queen with a bow.
"If I may be so bold," she said with a voice imbued with pure, gentle sincerity, "might I divulge the full of extent of these news in private, your graces? I fear they might be cause for some controversy, and even one as young as myself knows that we must handle sensitive knowledge regarding the safety of the realm with great care."
Jon nodded, "Very well. The three of us will discuss this in the royal solar." The herald called for an end to the audience and the nobles began to file out, the Kingsguard escorting them to the private office of the King and Queen. Ser Josmyn Peckledon, known as Peck, smiled at Catelyn as they were conveyed to the room, before taking a position outside. With him remained Valerys, looking a fair bit awkward on his lonesome, though he softened as her eyes and his met as she left.
King and Queen soon stood in front of Catelyn, leaning against their desks, Daenerys spoke, "Tell us what is so sensitive, Catelyn. The attack near the Stoney Sept was bad enough. Do you bring even graver news?"
Catelyn stood straight and firm before them, although her face and voice expressed disquiet, her eyes falling to the surfaces of the desks for a brief moment as she began to talk.
"I returned from Fairmarket to Riverrun a few weeks ago, bringing with me a series of letters, handed to me by a septon who had conspired with knights and sparrows to wreak havoc throughout the Riverlands, killing many innocents.
"The septon must have met his end by now, for the knights who stole him from my custody on the road to Riverrun promised me as much. Though there was much I might have learned from him, that may no longer be possible.
She looked down at her own hands.
"Yet I had the letters, all of which I handed to my lord father for him to examine..."
She paused, and in her silence she reached into her sleeve. From it, she pulled a single letter.
"Except for one, your graces," she finished, and let the letter fall from her fingers onto Daenerys' desk.
"It does not tell the identity of the lord this septon, and the knights who took him, were serving," she explained, looking into their eyes, "but it does contain a certain, disturbing piece of information. It singles out a member of the Most Devout as the eyes and ears of this unnamed lord in the capital, and alludes to unnamed lords and ladies among you who serve th."
She took a couple of steps to her left, her sight resting on the letter. "My lord father knows nothing of this. He only knows that I suspect some of the troubles that ail the Riverlands might be rooted in higher power outside of our homeland."
Daenerys took the letter and pored over it while Jon crossed his arms, "This does seem to correlate with some reports from the field. After the attack in Stoney Sept, we've had men find the dens of these Sparrows and Rogue Knights only to find the inhabitants either gone or slaughtered. Mayhaps there is some kind of internal conflict in their coalition, and make no mistake, we believe there is a coaliton at work here."
The Queen raised her eyes and said, "This is stunning information. We must have Arya investigate immediately. But why did you not tell your father?"
Catelyn did not vacilate. She lied perfectly, confidently, without pause, presenting them with a bashful look as she responded.
"Perhaps it is just a foolish young daughter's concern... but I fear for my lord father's safety, strong and wise though he may be. The Riverlands face enough violence already, without a coalition of shadows setting our farms on fire and hanging whole families from our trees in the name of the Seven or some extinct house. We Tullys are ill-fit for grand intrigues."
Jon smirked, "And yet, here you are Catelyn. Mayhaps, grand intrigues are not outside of your purview. But you speak truly, we have enough concerns without these malcontents in our borders. I will have the men seeking the Freemen Brotherhood in the Crownlands be diverted to your father's command. We've found no sign of them here, we believe they have moved to the Trident. Edmure may use the Night Riders and Dragon's Teeth we give him to do as he sees fit."
Daenerys said, "In the meantime, we will look into this letter further. We must tread carefully before we make any hasty moves. Especially when it comes to the faith."
"I thank you, your graces," said Catelyn with a bow, smiling softly at them both. "I will inform my father."
There was another voice and a woman said, "And perhaps Catelyn will be more forthcoming in the future." Daenyra Targaryen, appeared, her blue and green eyes flashing as she smiled and said, "Catelyn. It's good to see you. I am sorry to hear about your subjects. But is there anything more you wish to tell us?"
The smile on Catelyn's face turned into a broad grin, and she went to Daenyra with swift steps and outstretched arms. "Dany, always sneaking on me."
She giggled as she held the princess' hands in hers. As she gazed into those blue and green eyes, it occurred to her that her childhood friend was still beautiful, and she remembered how they had used to steal kisses from one another as girls. For all the years that had passed since then, she was still fond of those memories.
Daenyra smiled at Catelyn widely and embraced her before pulling back and keeping hold of her hands, "Only because you keep leaving yourself wide open for it, Cat."
"There is, in fact, something else," she said, and turned to the king and queen before continuing. "With your permission, your graces, I should like to remain here and assist the crown in this matter I have brought forward."
She looked at Jon, a man she had always found almost as handsome as his eldest son, and someone who she respected.
"Whether grand intrigues are outside of my purview or not, your grace, I believe I have a responsibility to help pursue this coalition and root out its leaders for all the pain they have inflicted upon the Riverlands. And with your consent, I would like to serve as my lord father's voice in this court."
Daenerys smiled and Jon pursed his lips for a moment before saying, "You have our leave. I will assign you to Sansa. As she is Mistress of Laws, you may serve under her as one of her top aides and help her in the ongoing investigations. I will also empower you to speak with the voice of House Tully here in King's Landing. I'll send a raven to your father to inform him of such. Welcome back to King's Landing, Catelyn. We're happy to have you."
"You have my wholehearted gratitude, your graces," Catelyn said to the king and queen with a wide smile, and she curtsied for both, though one of her hands continued to hold onto Daenyra's.
Daenyra nodded her head, "Let's get you back to your rooms. It's been a long journey, and you'll have plenty to do besides work with Sansa. I expect the Princess Juliana will wish to have tea or somesuch. Come, I'll send for wine and lemoncakes. We must catch up. So much has happened since last we talked."
The lady of the Riverlands complied with girlish giggles, and allowed herself to be pulled out of the room by the lively dragon princess she had long known and cared for. She gave the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms a last, playfully penitent glance, and she was gone.
Gates of the Moon
Mychel Arryn did not feign joy at his father's announcement, and did not meet Ser Harrold's glance with anything resembling courtesy. He glowered like only he could, and drank his wine without raising it in even perfunctory cheering.
"Somewhat, my lord?" He smirked bitterly as he spoke. "If my father's folly doesn't end with half the Winged Knights dead and thousands of mountain clansmen marching to the Eyrie, I shall think us miraculous."
The young Arryn rode alongside Tyrion with narrowed eyes and twitching lips, every so often directing both at the party of Winged Knights behind them. A night of deep sleep had done little to deem his resentment, and even Passion's company on his shoulder did little to mitigate that venomous emotion.
As he had prepared to ride, he had shared a few words with the lords of the Vale on his side, sowed the seeds of a safeguard against the madness and stupidity he feared would reign over the proceedings. He only truly trusted a handful of them, but he at least had some faith in their ability to block any attempts by his kinsman to undermine their talks with the Mountain King.
The clansmen riding with him and Tyrion seemed somewhat reluctant to share their knowledge of the man with the 'kneelers', yet some information had slipped through anyway. It was enough to give Mychel a vague idea of where all the parts in this affair stood, a basis for him to think of offers for the rebel leader that might bring them closer to lasting peace.
Tyrion's mention of the gods, however, did bring a smile to his face, and a small bit of reassurance. Maybe the gods, old or new, would indeed help them.
"If the Mountain King has a pragmatic side to him, we might yet compell him to lay down his arms in exchange for his own fiefdom," he said, nodding. "Perhaps a castle and a lordly title will be enough to appease him. But if he insists on his kingship, the best we can hope for is that we will persuade his supporters to abandon him in exchange for the same rewards."
He sighed.
"It would be ideal if Ser Harrold was not personally present during the meeting. Tough he is certainly not lacking in intelligence, he is rich in ambitions. If he sees an opportunity to make himself a conquering hero, he will take it."
Even if it means getting me killed, he thought to himself. Perhaps specially if it gets me killed.
He looked at Tyrion then, and the tales of Tywin Lannister's brilliant though terrible deeds came to his mind again. And those tales soon morphed into something different, something more personal. Disturbed by his own thoughts, he quicked his horse's pace.
"We should make haste, my lord.."
Tyrion nodded, "Indeed, we shall go with all speed. We should be there within a few days. But we must also be on the lookout, in case this is some manner of trap. They say the Mountain King is a warg, and has spies throughout the Mountains. That's how he has managed to evade the Winged Knights thus far. But, an old friend Timmett of Timmett, will meet us there. With his support, perhaps this will work out well for us."
They travelled through the Mountains of the Moon, watchful for any signs of a surprise attack. They met with no incident however, and luckily the tensions among the eclectic delegation did not flare into any open conflict. Eventually, after a long slog of a climb up a cold mountain, they reached the sumitt and were met with a surprising site, an old nearly ruined stone fortress with a wooden pallisade wall commanding the approach. It looked like a fortification of the First Men.
At the gate a burly clansmen appeared, in oddments and scraps of rusty armor, "Who the fuck are you?"
Tyrion gestured for Mychel to speak, "Your show, Mychel. Let's make a good impression."
With a nod, Mychel climbed down from his mount, Passion perched still on his shoulder, and took a couple of firm steps forward, hands made into stiff fists by his sides.
"I am Mychel, son of Robin, and I come to pay my respects to the Mountain King and speak on equal terms with him, as an envoy of the King in the Iron Throne, Jon, son of Rhaegar, and the Queen in the Iron Throne, Daenerys, daughter of Aerys."
He gestured to the party of knights, lords and clansmen behind him.
"My people are here to make peace with yours, and right whatever wrongs we may have inflicted on each other. May we enter as your honored guests and break bread with one another as peers?"
The mountain man absorbed all of this in silence, his brow furrowed in strained comprehension as he scratched himself and said, "Uh... I s'ppose you the lot the King is waiting for. Go in, but watch yourselves, bloody kneelers."
Mychel could not help but chuckle, even as some of the knights and lords behind him scoffed.
He shouted behind him and the gate was pushed open by several tribesmen, Tyrion nodded at Mychel and the column rode in. There were scores of mountain men here, hundreds even. A ramshackle village on the summit of the mountain, in the ruins of this fort. Children pointed and stared at the lords and clansmen riding in, and several hid or cursed the men riding by. The clansmen with the entourage looked almost as wary as the Valemen, and several of the villagers clutched weapons at the ready. The Hand of the King smiled and waved, and several whispered amongst themselves, obviously talking about the infamous halfman. Tyrion brightened when he saw Timmett and the two exchanged grips enthusiastically, before the old friend joined them with his Burned Men.
Eventually they reached the middle of the village, where a giant runed stone appeared. All manner of swirling First Man patterns were carved into the stone and at it's foot was a throne of animal bone and wood. The Mountain King sat there, with his crown of bone and a large shadowcat laid at his feet. The Mountain King was garbed in a bear skin cloak, and several scavenged plates of armor. A stolen longsword was sheathed next to him. And he couldn't have been any older than Mychel. That give even Tyrion pause, though he didn't show it.
The youthful barbarian chieftain looked at the delegation with clear, blue eyes. His blonde hair sheared short. He had a surprisingly clean face, though it was angular and sharp. Tyrion suspected the boy was some abducted noblewoman's son. The Mountain King remained seated, his warriors gathering behind him and he said, "I am Cronun, son of Hunin, Chieftain of the Redsmiths, High Chieftain of the Clans, and the true King of the Mountain."
Tyrion said, "I am Tyrion, son of Tywin. Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord of the West. Hand of the King on the Iron Throne." He paused to let all the other notables announce themselves, including all of his friends among the clans which they did so with boisterous applomb.
Mychel kept it much simpler, more preoccupied with trying to determine Cronun's lineage, and silently speculating about his age and how he had risen to that throne so young, than with boasting.
"King Cronun, I am Mychel, son of Robin of the Eyrie. My father, and his father before him, may have been your people's sworn enemies, but I come as a friend seeking only peace, for my people and yours."
From his shoulder, Passion screeched, and Mychel wondered whether there was any meaning to it as he pet her head.
Cronun leaned his head on one fist and said, "Aye, your kneeler friends called for this meeting. I was bored of listening to this rabble here, so I thought why not? Might be an amusement."
Mychel grinned. "I hope to please you, then."
He stared intensely at Mychel, "I have three thousand warriors at my command. All the loyal clansmen," He shot a glare at Tyrion's companions, including Timmett of Timmett, "Enough to raid for years on end. You haven't gotten rid of us yet. And we aren't going anywhere. Why is peace in my interests? And on what terms?"
"You are King of the Mountain, a title which you must have earned through your own feats rather than right of blood, unlike many of us... kneelers," he said, guiding Passion to rest on his forearm as he gave a small bow. "So have the King and Queen in the Iron Throne. They both paid the blood price for the right to rule the continent. If you wish to challenge them both for the right to reign over the mountains, we will convey that message... but you must know by know what such a clash between kings would entail."
He paused, and turned to look at the loyal clansmen gathered around their king.
"Many among us kneelers would perfer that, and even those who would not might object to another king in this continent," he continued. "However, you and your people could still earn a place of power in this continent, a place worthy of my people's respect, provided you were willing to forgo the title of king for another. You could still rule the mountains as your fief, and sit on your very own throne, but instead you might call yourself, perhaps, a Lord Paramount, like my father and Tyrion, son of Tywin. Or perhaps a Prince, like the rulers of Dorne. I would not force you to kneel before the King and Queen, but only to acknowledge their well-earned right to be the only kings in this continent. Your people's traditions would not be threatened, I can guarantee you, and whatever land we grant you would be granted in perpetuity."
His grin turned into a softened smile.
"Now, if you have any specific demands, I will gladly hear them, and terms are always negotiable... within reason."
Cronun frowned in thought, mulling over Mychel's words. Several of the knights and lords present shifted in the saddle. It probably did not please them to hear talk of yielding lands to the mountain men or granting their king a title on the same level as Lord Robin or Tyrion. Most probably expected Mychel to ask for an oath of fealty as well. There was some quiet grumbling, specially from Ser Harrold and his Winged Knights. Tyrion kept his silence, his thoughts impenetrable for the nonce.
The Mountain King said, "Generous terms. Almost suspiciously so if you ask me," He spit on the ground, "We have no lords or Princes. Only Kings and Chieftains. You may have turned the wildlings into kneelers, but I will not allow any man of the clans to call himself a lord. Only a chief. If I accept, I will be High Chieftain of the Mountains of the Moon just as your Tormund Giantsbane is High Chieftain of the Free Folk. All will be chiefs under me. No lords like that Lord Thenn."
"I think that is a fair demand, King Cronun," answered Mychel. "I did say that your people's traditions would not be threatened. You may call yourself High Chieftain of the Mountains of the Moon, and your chiefs may still call themselves chiefs, and you may all worship your gods freely."
He grimaced, "Your dragon king and dragon queen are strong aye. But if the tales are true, then there are other kings rising. A King in the deserts. A King in the islands. You haven't defeated them yet. Are you scared of us perhaps? That you would offer us so much?" He put a particular snarling emphasis on the word offer and several of the clansmen behind him laughed.
"I was born and raised in this land, King Cronun," said Mychel with a chuckle. "I know the strength of your people.. so yes, I personally do fear you somewhat. But the King and Queen? They do not know or fear you. Not truly. They defeated the Night's King and his army of the dead, and three thousand warriors are not a great threat to their rule.
"But you are right that there are other kings rising. And every man who dies fighting your people is a man that could have fought against the Iron Throne's true foes. While my father's warriors fight your warriors, monsters rise from the deep and attack our shores. Your war against us doesn't frighten us, but it is wasting our time and resources. Now, from your words, I think you must be rather shrewd, so you must know that, if the greater wars are lost, whatever victories you get against my people will be futile.
He paused, and looked at Passion, the falcon staring back at him intently.
"Your people are the ancestral inhabitants of this land," he said after a time. "Though you have wronged my people, you do have a claim to the land we share. I would not expell you from it, or force you to serve my fellow lords of the Vale. If you want to be our equals, you can be our equals, and stand beside us, if not as friends, then at least as respectful neighbours."
Cronun listened and his brow furrowed in thought. Tyrion looked around and saw that all of the clansmen had gathered around. Some seemed surly and angry at their presence, others seemed pensive. Finally Cronun said, "Your fellow kneelers don't seem like the type to think of us as neighbors. But I will think on what you say. I must speak with all the other chiefs now. Your... friends can join, as is their right as men of the mountain. We will talk amongst ourselves. As to what the First Men of the Mountains will do. Peace or continued war. And on what terms. This may take a long while, perhaps days, and as such, once we come to you with terms, they will be final. Our only offer. In the meantime, you will camp outside the village, and keep the peace. Once we have reached a decison, we will call upon you."
"Then, before we part, there is but one more term of ours you must hear," said Mychel, taking a step closer to the young king. "If you and your chiefs are to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, you must share bonds of blood with us. At least one son or daughter of each chief must marry a lord or lady... as must you, King Cronun."
That got a reaction as well. All of the clansmen began muttering to each other and not a knight there didn't glance askance at his comrade or tighten his jaw in surprised anger. Cronun was even taken a bit aback, though he recovered quickly, with an arrogant laugh, "I already do share blood with the kneelers, Black Falcon. But I will think on this as well. You're a pretty one, mayhaps I will put you in skirts and take you to wife." All of the clansmen laughed with him.
The heir to the Vale blushed, his smile turned sheepish, but he chuckled along and allowed himself a slightly sultry look for the Mountain King.
"The King of the Mountain flatters me. A pity that it's clearly in jest," said he with mischief in his blue eyes. "Were that a serious proposal, it could be a solution to our troubles, could it not? Cronun and Mychel, doubly legitimate rulers of the Vale..."
Tyrion whispered to Mychel, "Best we take our leave soon. I fear if we stay much longer, they may not be in such good spirits." The Shadowcat at Cronun's feet eyed Tyrion with a gaze that looked much too hungry for his liking.
Mychel nodded at Tyrion, and gave the king a small bow.
"But I thank you for your consideration. I will await your call in the meantime."
Turning back to the Hand of the King, he whispered to the older man, and began to walk the way back, out of the village. "You are right, although I am more concerned about the Valemen's reaction than the clansmen's. The king and his chiefs seemed to be enjoying themselves, even if it was at our expense. Laughter is not a bad start for negotiations..."
He spared a look for his allied lords and the Winged Knights, and saw an awful lot of thinly veiled glares directed at him.
"And now I fear I may have overstepped in my eagerness," he said, mostly to himself. "I will have to spend some time speaking to the Valemen, see how deeps the wounds to their pride are. This peace will be worthless if the lords are suddenly eager to undermine it."
The Hand of the King smiled slightly, "We're luck Lord Harrold didn't draw steel right there, the way Cronun paid insults to them. But not to worry. I told Timmett and all the others of the more favorable terms and concessions we desire. And they will talk and fight strenously for them. Mark my words, when Cronun finally gives us his offer, days though it may take, your bannermen will find it much more palpable. We just have to make sure they stay mollified until then. You did well with Cronun."
He glanced back at Cronun. "He is a bit immature... although, then again, so am I... but there is a sensibility to him. Maybe these negotiations will bear fruit."
He left it unsaid that he was fascinated by the king on a more personal level. His looks gave Mychel a suspicion that he could not quite put in words, as did his mannerisms. He was a clansman, yes, but more lingered underneath.
"If you had to guess, Lord Tyrion, which noble family would you say he probably shares blood with?"
Tyrion smirked and stared at Mychel with his own black and green eyes, "Why, Mychel, if I had to guess.... I would say he had the blood of the falcon."
The Blue Fork - Near Oldstones
Mylenos was clearly troubled by the sight of the mysterious knights through the carriage's small window, yet it seemed to have little effect on Catelyn Tully. The young lady of Riverrun only stared at them through the falling raindrops and light mist, and listened to the first knight's threatening demand. The heavy rain and thick vegetation made it difficult to ascertain how many more knights were blocking her retinue's path, but she suspected her protectors were outnumbered. Although she trusted Valerys' skills, and those of her lord father's knights, it looked to her like it would be a painful, bloody battle.
Beside her, Septon Donnel sat quietly in his wet clothes, cradling in his hands an empty vial of what he thought to be an antidote to poison. The remembrance of what that meant somewhat diminished her willingness to fight for her prisoner, even if it did not make her any more eager to simply submit and hand him and his letters over. But as she looked once again at Mylenos, all possibility of slaughter vanished.
"Who are they?" She asked the septon, and there was no pretense of soft, lady-like kindness this time. All the contrary, her voice was cold like the air in this rainy morning. Across from her, Mylenos' hand lingered over a particular space under his cloak, where she knew he kept his dagger.
"You can see their colors, lady Tully," answered the older man, and his eyes showed even greater fear than Mylenos' did.
"They are the colors of an extinct house," said she, turning back to the world outside the carriage, looking at the knights impassively. Within, however, she was brimming with sentiments that ranged from worry to curiosity.
Septon Donnel sighed. "It was foolish of you to take me from my flock."
"Gloating, are we?" she said without looking, letting out an almost bemused scoff.
"You would think he was holding us hostage, the good septon," said Mylenos, the amusement in his voice almost tangibly nervous.
Valerys appeared beside her window, his spear in hand, the silver in his hair darkened by the water. The fleeting thought that he looked particularly handsome like this passed through Catelyn's mind, undermined immediately by what awaited beyond.
"Cat, what do we do?" He asked.
She looked him in his red eyes, then turned her own blue orbs to the knights in House Fisher's colors. She did not hesitate.
"We definitely do not fight them," she answered, placing her hand on the window's frame and leaning out. "We speak with them. Their threat is just a threat for now, and we need not spill blood if they are clearly willing to ask for our cooperation before bearing their steel."
The Knight spoke again, "What is your answer, my lady? Shall we conclude this business in peace and part safely? Or do you intend to refuse us? I tell you, we will not leave without the Septon, and we will do you no harm, but I cannot promise the safety of your companions if arms are raised against us."
"Valerys," she said to the Volantene knight, "move away. I am going out to speak with them."
Her lover gave her a look that was as shocked as it was apprehensive, until it relented under her own. And he nodded as he stepped away.
Wordlessly, the daughter of Edmure Tully climbed down from her carriage, paying no mind to the countless raindrops that fell on her, and immediately began to all but march towards the knights. The mud covered her shoes and dress, tarnishing the once pure silver, but she paid no mind to this either. Instead, her attention was entirely fixated on the knight.
"I would hear your name before I agree to anything, ser," she said, her voice as strong as it had been when she had spoken before the people of Fairmarket. It cut through the sounds of the rain and the wind.
"If you are going to make demands and threaten a lady of the Riverlands, you should at least have the decency not to do that under the cowardly veil of anonimity... ser."
The knight on his horse said nothing, until he went down from the saddle and approached Catelyn, before standing in front of her and removing his helm. He couldn't have been much older than her. The young knight had night black hair and green eyes, as green as the trees surrounding them. He was clean cut, his hair cropped short, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, "I am Ser Cullen Fisher. Of the dynasty of Fisher Kings. Lords of the Misty Isle."
Catelyn made a perfunctory curtsy, though her eyes seemed to be intently studying the knight's face.
"It is not every day that one meets a knight from a long dead dynasty that left no direct heirs who could legitimately claim the family name," she said, with a bit of humor in her tone. "Nevertheless, I thank you for introducing yourself, Ser Cullen."
He dipped his head and bowed, "My lady. I repeat my request to you. Relinquish the septon into our custody. And we can part amicably. You have my word of honor that none will be harmed if you accept."
"Septon Donnel is an honored guest of mine, ser," she responded, hands intertwined on her front as she stood firm before him. "If possible, I should like to know why I must part with him before I place him in your custody. You give me your word of honor, but how can I know that it is the word of an honorable man?"
Cullen looked into her eyes and said, "Septon Donnel, and many others committed a crime, a grave injustice in our name. Several in fact. Our lord has called for justice against those that would sully our name. We bring Donnel to face our lord's justice."
He nodded and said, "I can't expect you to trust my word immediately." He removed his gauntlet and the glove and raised the hand to face her, before drawing a dagger slowly and cutting his palm, "A blood oath, the old way, the way of our ancestors. I cannot break my word on pain of death." With that he loosened his sword from his sheath and replaced the dagger, offering the sword to Catelyn, "If I break my vow, then my life is forfeit and you may strike me down. I would sooner bare my neck for it than live in dishonor. I swear it by all the gods."
The justiciar was visibly taken aback by the knight's display, and remained silent for a time, gazing into his green eyes and watching his blood drip down his hand in turns. Eventually, she took ahold of the sword being offered, examining the blade and hilt with narrowed, softened blue eyes.
"Some people say words are wind," Catelyn said at last, although not necessarily to the knight. "But most of those people do not claim to follow the old way."
She raised her face towards his. "Though these circumstances cause me grave concern, and some offense, I will accept your blood oath, Ser Cullen."
Cullen smiled slightly and bowed his head once more, "I thank you, my lady. The tales told of you are true. Both of your righteousness and your beauty."
With another small curtsy, she took a step back.
"Should we cross paths again, ser..." she began, her voice hardening with resolution and cool, noble dignity once more, masking her wonder and unease at this strange encounter. "...and should I then find that you have broken your vow... I will strike you down, as the old way, and my duty as justiciar, demand."
Cullen met her gaze evenly, "If I break my vow to you, then I would demand you do the same."
She then turned to her retinue, and saw that the Maegyr brothers were just as apprehensive as she felt, if the wide-eyed looks on their faces were anything to go by. Seeing them like that reminded her why, above all else, she had chosen not to fight.
"Valerys, bring Septon Donnel to us!" Shouted Catelyn. Valerys was still at first, obviously baffled by her words, but he complied soon enough. The middle-aged septon came down from her carriage and began to walk towards Ser Cullen and her. She could not fully comprehend the expression on his face, though she imagined terror made up a part of it.
"Ser Cullen," she spoke without looking at the knight, "if your intention truly is to punish him for his crimes, that is... acceptable, although duty commands that I be the one to pass the sentence and see it carried out."
The knight nodded, "I understand what your duty commands. But you have my oath that Donnel will be punished."
She paused, pensive, as the raindrops slide down her cheek, and gave the knight a sideways look.
"What I cannot accept is that whoever put this man and his... flock... in a position to hurt so many innocent people might not be held responsible for it."
Turning to him, she handed him his sword back.
"So I would ask of you, Ser Cullen," she said coldly, "that you tell your lord that his actions, however well-intentioned, will not be ignored. I just had to bury a family and a boy because someone, in your lord's name, decided that young love and lack of devotion were deserving of brutal murder. If the monsters who have been burning homes and slaughtering our people did so under your lord's authority, then he is not without blame, and no blood oath will keep me from doing justice."
The Fisher Knight looked into Catelyn's eyes again, and if she looked closely, she might have seen a flash of approval, he tapped his fist against his chest and bowed his head, "I will relay your message to my lord. He is doing everything in his power to punish those that have committed such atrocities."
Cullen straightened, "And he understands that you will do what you feel you must. But so will he, and our house will not submit meekly I am afraid. I hope you keep this meeting in mind however, and are not so quick to desire our heads. We wish your father and the King and Queen to know that there is a way to settle these issues without violence."
"I cannot speak for the Iron Throne," said Catelyn. "But it is a lesson I learned long ago, Ser Cullen, and one that I will not soon forget."
Ser Fisher gestured to his men and they took Donnel into custody, binding his hands and leading him to a horse. Cullen turned to Catelyn and said, "I will take him to our lord, and he will be judged for his crimes. I will say it was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquantince. Your courtesy and sense of justice are matched only by your elegance and beauty. I hope that if we meet again, it will be in better surroundings."
He bowed his head once more, "House Fisher gives its regards to House Tully." He gestured once more and another knight brought up a chest, opening it to reveal a heap of coin, Cullen said, "For the families of the victims, a sign of our sorrow over the tragic loss of life." The knight placed the chest on the ground and stepped back to the horses.
If Catelyn was impressed by the contents of the chest, she concealed it.
"Coin is a poor substitute for the tears and comforting words of the truly sorrowful," she mused aloud. "But it may help those who survived to rebuild, and for that you have my gratitude."
Cullen donned his helm, "Farewell, Lady Catelyn. May the gods watch over you."
She curtsied one last time for him. "And you, Ser Cullen."
The lady of the Riverlands watched him and his party of mysterious knights disappear into the mist and rain. Even as they departed, she could not guess their true numbers.
For a while, silence reigned in that little corner of the Riverlands, as Catelyn Tully stood in the mud, watching the storm-blurred horizon. Valerys approached her slowly, his gloved hand caressing her shoulder, while Mylenos stayed a few feet behind. She gave the younger Maegyr a brief, meaningful look, though mostly focused on the older one. He seemed the most shaken.
"My lady... Cat..." He whispered, and the worry in his voice was palpable. It made her want to kiss him, but instead she gently pushed him aside.
"We must return to Riverrun as soon as possible, Ser Valerys," she said as she walked past him and back to her carriage. "My lord father will need my counsel in these trying times, and I have been gone long enough.
"Cat," said Mylenos, his voice firmer than his brother's. "The septon..."
"He is twice dead," she spewed, far more viciously than she would have preferred, even if Valerys could not hear it, and retreated into the dark enclosure of her carriage. Never before had she found such a thing comforting, yet now she felt she desperately needed it.
Outside, the rain kept pouring down onto the earth.
Riverrun
From his triangular solar, the Lord of Riverrun watched the Red Fork run its course as the rain pounded its surface and the mist concealed the farms and woods beyond. Somewhere in that place, his older son and heir was riding forth, on yet another journey to the Gods Eye and the Isle of Faces. He probably would not see his Sylvester for many weeks, and although he knew he meant well, Lord Edmure Tully could not help but yearn to see him return right then. Whatever helpful wisdom or spells Sylvester could learn from the children in the Isle of Faces, Edmure needed him here now, back home with his family and soldiers.
Edmure Tully stood on the balcony in full armor, as did his good friend, Lord Marq Piper of Pinkmaiden, behind him. He had only taken his armor off to sleep, and might have slept in it as well had not his sweet Roslin beaten some sense into him. Perhaps he did not truly need to spend every waking hour waiting for war to come to the Riverlands once more, yet the events in King's Landing made it difficult to believe otherwise.
"Marq, please leave us," suddenly came Roslin's voice from within the solar, breaking Edmure from his reverie. He looked at them both, his old friend and his lady wife, and nodded meekly, eyes still drawn to the misty woods Slyvester had ridden into. He barely heard the sound of the door of the solar closing.
"Edmure, my love," said Roslin, her graceful little fingers reaching for his bearded jaw, his small lips pressing against his cheek.
"Does it not worry you at all?" He asked her without looking.
"He is a man grown," she answered, "and we are not at war yet."
"The king might call onto me at any moment," said the Lord Paramount, allowing himself a small sigh. "I cannot afford to be idle."
He finally turned to her, and gazed into her brown eyes before kissing her chastely.
"And my men need to see that their lord is standing strong and ready."
"Standing in your balcony in full armor and staring into the mist is not strength, Edmure," she said, and it was perhaps the gentlest scolding she had ever given him. "It's fear, and if it consumes you, it will kill you a lot sooner than any sea monster will."
"It's not just the monsters..."
"I know, Edmure," she interrupted.
"We may not be at war, Roslin... but the piles of corpses and the burning villages? There are more and more of them with each passing day. Nobody is invading us, yet my people are dying by the hundreds and the land is turning to ashes."
He looked at where the farms were, on the other side of the Red Fork, and remembered how, not a week after returning from King's Landing, hundreds of common folk had walked through those fields and begged for help from the edge of Riverrun's moat. Someone had raided various orchards near the Twins, and a pair of dosh khaleen had been found brutalized outside of Saltpans. Not long after, another crowd had come, this time because beasts were attacking pilgrims in the River Road. And then there were the Freemen Brotherhood and the hunters of Red Priests, seemingly everywhere at once yet invisible when his knights set out to find them.
Edmure often felt that he was fighting a hundred unsung wars, even as his bannermen assured him that the worst had long since passed, and that the Riverlands had not seen such peace and prosperity since his father's early rule.
"I do not scold you for caring about these terrible things, my love," said Roslin. "I scold you for doing unnecessary, pointless things, pretending that they help. Wearing your armor here and now is an empty gesture. You are leading your people well without it."
He said nothing, eyes downcast. His gauntled hand rested on her swelling stomach, and the whisper of a smile formed in his lips.
"How fares our child?"
"Wonderfully," she whispered against his lips and kissed him. "And I know you will keep him or her safe, along with the rest of us."
The Lord and Lady of Riverrun leaned into each other, their noses brushing against one another, and basked in that quiet moment while it lasted, which was not long. Within a few relaxed sighs, the heard a soft knocking on the solar's door, followed by the door opening and the voice of their eldest child.
"Father, mother," said Catelyn, walking into the solar with her mud-stained dress and rain-soaked hair. Even then she managed to look dignified and graceful. She curtsied a few feet before reaching them, then held each of them in succession, her embrace as loving as always.
"My sweet Cat, we missed you," said her mother, kissing both her cheeks between giggles, "The storm showed no mercy to you, I see. What news do you bring from the Blue Fork?"
"The festival of Fairmarket was beautiful," said Catelyn, smiling at her mother. "Father and you would have greatly enjoyed yourselves there..."
"What of the roads, Cat? Were they safe?" Her father interrupted.
"The roads were no trouble, father," she answered, "but the people of Fairmarket do live in fear of outlaws. And there is another matter, larger and more complicated..."
"Speak, Cat," said her mother. "If it is important, pleasantries can wait."
Catelyn did not hesitate.
"I need Sylvester to go to Fairmarket and imprison Septon Hendry," she said as she produced a few letters from her dress, the parchment still mostly dry. "And others. Some of them might already have been killed, but those who remain need to be brought here for judgement."
Her father stood still and impassive, staring at the letters in her hands.
"Where did those letters come from?" He asked.
"The Elder Brother of the monastery near Oldstones," said Catelyn. "He gave them to me after he confessed to taking part in a conspiracy of sparrows and anointed knights to slaughter countless Riverlanders in the name of the Seven."
"And where is this Elder Brother now?" Asked her father, taking one of the letters in hand, idly passing his finger along the writing in it.
"He was taken from us," said Catelyn, her voice taking the tone of someone who was telling an ancient fable, and her eyes gaining a far-off look. "A knight who called himself Ser Cullen Fisher appeared before us on the road with a band of fellow knights dressed in the colors of the Fishers of Misty Isle."
She glanced down at the letters she was still holding. "He threatened me into handing him over; claimed that the septon would be judged and punished by his lord for his crimes. We were outnumbered, so I had to allow it."
Her face adopted a remorseful expression, and her father responded by kindly patting her on the shoulder.
"Sylvester has gone to the Isle of Faces," he said. "No raven will reach him. But I will send some knights to Fairmarket regardless."
Catelyn nodded in agreement. "If we are fortunate, nothing will impede them from bringing Septon Hendry to Riverrun, and we might learn more from him."
Roslin looked back and forth between father and daughter, her brown gaze thoughtful, before nodding herself.
"Alright, that is one problem swiftly solved," she said, hands cradling her stomach. "Now, I would like my lord husband to take off his armor and put on a proper doublet, and my daughter to put on a clean dress. You both have matters to attend to that require you to look presentable, which neither of you does at this moment."
Lord Edmure sighed, though there was some laughter in his voice. "Very well, Roslin."
"Perhaps I should go to King's Landing," Catelyn suddenly declared, her voice and expression imbued with calm determination.
Her father and mother started.
"Why?" Asked her mother.
"To inform the King and Queen on the state of affairs in the Riverlands," she explained. "The more we try to stamp out each and every fire, the more they all spread. I could personally try and sentence a hundred outlaws, and five hundred more would be rampaging up and down the Trident within a fortnight."
"Cat..." Her father began to say.
"I found and captured a septon responsible for the deaths of many innocents, and before I could bring him here, someone even more powerful came and took him away."
She handed the rest of the letters to her father.
"Some of these bands of outlaws are just that," she said, "but others... they are part of a larger problem. And with all that has happened... here, in the Riverlands... in King's Landing... I cannot help but feel that we are looking at something that exceeds my current grasp, and I cannot accept that."
She held her father's armored wrist in a comforting grip. "Your, your knights and Sylvester can deal with the fighting. As a justiciar, I am all but useless against them, and I fear I may not be able to single-handedly bring an end to vast conspiracies, and major threats to our land and our people, from my carriage, from this solar, or from the gallows."
"So instead you will play the raven?" Asked her mother, her voice and expression calm, stroking her cheek. Although she was markedly shorter than her daughter, it seldom looked like it to Catelyn, and this was true now as well. "What can you hope to achieve in that place?"
"We don't have a seat in the Small Council, but father is still the Lord Paramount of the Trident," answered Catelyn, releasing her father's wrist to hold her mother's. "And we have friends in the Iron Throne. There are people who might listen to me and lend me their help. And if something larger is at play here, I suspect that its roots are somewhere out there."
"I know you loathe to leave the Riverlands, Cat," said Roslin, "but if you truly believe that this is your best path forwards..."
"Clearly, I can no longer rely solely on my authority as father's justiciar here," she finished, and there was peace in her voice. "All of this chaos, this violence, it won't end from my riding from town to town, castle to castle, and judging thieves, rapers and murderers. I must do more if I am to truly help, mother."
Her father nodded silently, while her mother only looked at them both.
"She's right," said her father at last, a sorrowful but resigned look in his eyes. "You will take with yourself a larger retinue, for safety's sake, but you will go to King's Landing and do your duty for the Riverlands and your family."
"Yes, father," said Catelyn. "Thank you."
"Melissa is sensible and has learned much from you," continued the Lord Paramount. "She will make a fine justiciar in your absence."
"I'll make sure I leave her with much good advise, that she may be better than fine."
"Valerys and Mylenos should go with you," said Roslin. "You trust them more than anyone, and you will need people you can trust in King's Landing. Your Stark relatives know this to be true."
Catelyn did not protest, although there was a single, subtle twitch in the corner of her mouth at her mother's words.
"King's Landing is teeming with sellswords and spies; schemers, opportunists and traitors abound," said Catelyn, her fingers absendmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, her nerves getting the best of her for once. "They would not be safe there."
"Cat," said her mother as she held her fidgeting hand, "they have survived worse. And you know they will want to go with you even if you refuse."
Catelyn Tully audibly swallowed a lump in her long, pale throat, and blew air out through her fine nose. For an instant no longer than the blink of an eye, she appeared afraid, but cold determination returned to her beautiful features soon.
"I will take Valerys with me," she said, "but not Mylenos. I will not imperil both of them."
"Alright, my sweet Cat," said her mother. "I will go and tell the cooks that we are holding a farewell feast tonight. I imagine you will want to depart as soon as possible, and make haste to King's Landing. I know you loathe prolongued expectations."
"You know me well, mother."
Roslin Frey kissed her daughter's cheeks again, and then she was gone from the solar, her father watching her with blue eyes filled with adoration. Catelyn remained pensive, her own blue eyes losing themselves in the mist her father had been staring at.
"Cat," her father said after a time, breaking her from her reverie. "Be careful in that nest of vipers. Better, wiser men than I fared poorly in their midst, and you are my daughter. My firstborn."
Catelyn turned to him, and her eyes had a mist of their own.
"When I was a child, I thought I had the bravest, strongest, wisest father in the world," she told him, a warm smile on her rosy lips. "Yet I lived in fear because, from this balcony, I watched you ride into the wilderness, over and over, to fight against one of the countless threats our house faced. Every time, I knew not whether you would return."
Her hand rested on the cold, wet stone of the balcony's edge, and she listened to the roaring river underneath.
"And when you named me justiciar, my very core was shaking, because I did not know if I could match you, if I could face what you faced. I was so young, so inexperienced..."
She stepped away from the edge, hands slowly unraveling her braid of red hair, until her long mane framed her comely face and spilled over her shoulders
"Do you remember what you said to me then?" She asked him. "What words of yours gave me the determination to defy my fears and do my duty?"
She paused, but he did not answer. He only returned her smile.
"They were not our house's words, which I had known by heart for the longest of times," she carried on. "They were your very own words. You said that I had already surpassed you by being born, for you were a summer child, whereas I had been conceived in a massacre and born during the Long Night, in the midst of enemies who sought to make our house extinct, like those of the river kings of old."
The mist of her eyes thickened.
"You said that, although Sylvester would be a great warrior someday, he would never enjoy a victory as sweet as mine own," she continued, her smile widened. "I had already faced the worst that this world could offer, and defeated their ill intentions before I even learned how to speak. Because I was your daughter, the Tully that should not have existed, the Tully that proved our house would not fade...
"When you said that, I resolved that I would continue to be that Tully. I would look in the eyes of evil and challenge it with every tool at my disposal."
Their Tully eyes met, and she saw glimpses of mist in her father's.
"I promised to myself that would dedicate my life to uprooting each and every threat to your peace, and your successors' peace. For our family, for our duty, and for our honor."
With a shared nod between father and daughter, Catelyn Tully left the solar, leaving a faint trail of mud behind herself, the wet silver of her dress still glittering in the faint sunlight.
King's Landing
The weeks of travel had left Catelyn Tully drained in body and spirits, though she suspected it had not been the journey alone. Valerys had kept her good, close company, however, and his passionate attentions had been a true balm for her humor, even if they had left her with unseemly red marks on her collarbones. ewFortunately, she knew she could trust her dresses to conceal them well in the presence of the court.
Their love kept hiden by the walls and drapes of her carriage, Catelyn and Valerys held each other and playfully kissed as the Tully retinue passed through the Dragon Gate, the silver trout raised high above the city's lively crowds. Even as she relished her Volantene lover's affections, she was aware of the many tongues being spoken outside their little moving haven, and could faintly smell the many odors of the great capital, from the spices being sold by foreign traders to the filth being thrown onto the streets by the common folk in their Crownlander accents.
"Cat, can you hear them?" Valerys whispered to her between kisses, his silver hair as disheveled as hers.
"Yes," she answered, barely parting her lips from his. "We have arrived... again..."
"I so wish you and I could walk these streets together, as a pair..."
"Were this Fairmarket or Maidenpool, I would do so shamelessly," she said, hand cradling his fair face. "But this is not a safe city. Not for you, nor for me. Discretion will be paramount."
"You Westerosi nobles and your discretion..." He half-jested, a little chuckle in his voice, before gently biting down on her lower lip and sliding its tongue along its increasingly reddened surface.
"You could always steal me away," she japed back, and bit his lip harder in retaliation. "Make yourself a pirate lord, and I your courtesan, your concubine."
"I've never enjoyed sailing, sadly," he responded with a grin.
The Tully retinue advanced almost unhindered, passing through the Street of Silk, by the Dragonpit on Rhaenys' Hill. It moved past Flea Bottom, and reached the Red Keep followed by a small gaggle of begging folk. The crowd faltered in their pursuit as they reached the castle's main gate, faced with the gold cloaks that guarded, although Catelyn heard her knights throwing coin at the people.
A group of gold cloaks received her and her retinue with practiced courtesy, one of them offering a hand for her to climb down from her carriage, which she took. A serving girl came forward then, dressed in the colors of House Targaryen, and led her into Maegor's Holdfast, to her own personal quarters in the keep, Valerys and her knights following close behind.
A while later, after washing up, braiding her hair once again and changing into a new silver dress, Catelyn Tully and her beloved Valerys were ready for what would come next. With the Volantene knight escorting her in his steel-scaled leather and silk armor, she walked out of her quarters and out the holdfast, and made the journey through the great castle's passages and courtyards to the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne awaited.
The great oak-and-bronze doors of the hall opened before her once more, a sight she could never quite get accustomed to, and she took her first steps onto the carpet that connected the entrance with the iron dais upon which the Iron Throne sat. A booming voice announced her before the entire court, and countless noble eyes turned towards her and her foreign companion.
Catelyn Tully walked along the carpet, towards the Iron Throne, with grace and cool dignity, her skirts billowing lightly in the air behind her, while the light from the high, narrow windows on the eastern and western walls caused the silver thread and pearls of her dress to glitter. Valerys followed closely, from the sound of it. She would not look back, but only forward, as she approached.
King Jon and Queen Daenerys Targaryen sat upon their seats, regarding Catelyn warmly. Daenerys smiled and said, "Catelyn Tully. Be welcome to the Red Keep, the hospitality of House Targaryen is yours. I am sure the prince and princesses will be pleased to see you."
Catelyn curtsied and smiled back at her queen. "You have my thanks your grace. I look forward to seeing the princes and princesses once more."
Jon also smiled, "I trust that Lord Edmure and the rest of your family fare well. We had not expected you again so soon after the wedding however. What brings you to King's Landing, Catelyn?"
"All of House Tully fares well, your grace," she answered, curtsying to him as well. "I did not expect to return so soon either, specially in such short notice, but pressing matters have forced me to."
She bowed lightly, and when she spoke again, she did so in what her youngest sister called her 'political voice', the voice of someone who did not just speak, but made proclamations.
"It pains me to say so, your grace," she said, "but although my house is safe and in good health, terror lurks in the Riverlands again. My lord father understands that the crown is concerned with far greater threats to the peace than petty banditry, yet since the royal wedding, your grace, we have uncovered most troubling truths and seen the rise of new difficulties, for which a mere justiciar like myself is ill-suited, and which exceeds my lord father's reach."
She glanced around herself, at the many knights, lords and ladies gathered around, and turned once more to the king and queen with a bow.
"If I may be so bold," she said with a voice imbued with pure, gentle sincerity, "might I divulge the full of extent of these news in private, your graces? I fear they might be cause for some controversy, and even one as young as myself knows that we must handle sensitive knowledge regarding the safety of the realm with great care."
Jon nodded, "Very well. The three of us will discuss this in the royal solar." The herald called for an end to the audience and the nobles began to file out, the Kingsguard escorting them to the private office of the King and Queen. Ser Josmyn Peckledon, known as Peck, smiled at Catelyn as they were conveyed to the room, before taking a position outside. With him remained Valerys, looking a fair bit awkward on his lonesome, though he softened as her eyes and his met as she left.
King and Queen soon stood in front of Catelyn, leaning against their desks, Daenerys spoke, "Tell us what is so sensitive, Catelyn. The attack near the Stoney Sept was bad enough. Do you bring even graver news?"
Catelyn stood straight and firm before them, although her face and voice expressed disquiet, her eyes falling to the surfaces of the desks for a brief moment as she began to talk.
"I returned from Fairmarket to Riverrun a few weeks ago, bringing with me a series of letters, handed to me by a septon who had conspired with knights and sparrows to wreak havoc throughout the Riverlands, killing many innocents.
"The septon must have met his end by now, for the knights who stole him from my custody on the road to Riverrun promised me as much. Though there was much I might have learned from him, that may no longer be possible.
She looked down at her own hands.
"Yet I had the letters, all of which I handed to my lord father for him to examine..."
She paused, and in her silence she reached into her sleeve. From it, she pulled a single letter.
"Except for one, your graces," she finished, and let the letter fall from her fingers onto Daenerys' desk.
"It does not tell the identity of the lord this septon, and the knights who took him, were serving," she explained, looking into their eyes, "but it does contain a certain, disturbing piece of information. It singles out a member of the Most Devout as the eyes and ears of this unnamed lord in the capital, and alludes to unnamed lords and ladies among you who serve th."
She took a couple of steps to her left, her sight resting on the letter. "My lord father knows nothing of this. He only knows that I suspect some of the troubles that ail the Riverlands might be rooted in higher power outside of our homeland."
Daenerys took the letter and pored over it while Jon crossed his arms, "This does seem to correlate with some reports from the field. After the attack in Stoney Sept, we've had men find the dens of these Sparrows and Rogue Knights only to find the inhabitants either gone or slaughtered. Mayhaps there is some kind of internal conflict in their coalition, and make no mistake, we believe there is a coaliton at work here."
The Queen raised her eyes and said, "This is stunning information. We must have Arya investigate immediately. But why did you not tell your father?"
Catelyn did not vacilate. She lied perfectly, confidently, without pause, presenting them with a bashful look as she responded.
"Perhaps it is just a foolish young daughter's concern... but I fear for my lord father's safety, strong and wise though he may be. The Riverlands face enough violence already, without a coalition of shadows setting our farms on fire and hanging whole families from our trees in the name of the Seven or some extinct house. We Tullys are ill-fit for grand intrigues."
Jon smirked, "And yet, here you are Catelyn. Mayhaps, grand intrigues are not outside of your purview. But you speak truly, we have enough concerns without these malcontents in our borders. I will have the men seeking the Freemen Brotherhood in the Crownlands be diverted to your father's command. We've found no sign of them here, we believe they have moved to the Trident. Edmure may use the Night Riders and Dragon's Teeth we give him to do as he sees fit."
Daenerys said, "In the meantime, we will look into this letter further. We must tread carefully before we make any hasty moves. Especially when it comes to the faith."
"I thank you, your graces," said Catelyn with a bow, smiling softly at them both. "I will inform my father."
There was another voice and a woman said, "And perhaps Catelyn will be more forthcoming in the future." Daenyra Targaryen, appeared, her blue and green eyes flashing as she smiled and said, "Catelyn. It's good to see you. I am sorry to hear about your subjects. But is there anything more you wish to tell us?"
The smile on Catelyn's face turned into a broad grin, and she went to Daenyra with swift steps and outstretched arms. "Dany, always sneaking on me."
She giggled as she held the princess' hands in hers. As she gazed into those blue and green eyes, it occurred to her that her childhood friend was still beautiful, and she remembered how they had used to steal kisses from one another as girls. For all the years that had passed since then, she was still fond of those memories.
Daenyra smiled at Catelyn widely and embraced her before pulling back and keeping hold of her hands, "Only because you keep leaving yourself wide open for it, Cat."
"There is, in fact, something else," she said, and turned to the king and queen before continuing. "With your permission, your graces, I should like to remain here and assist the crown in this matter I have brought forward."
She looked at Jon, a man she had always found almost as handsome as his eldest son, and someone who she respected.
"Whether grand intrigues are outside of my purview or not, your grace, I believe I have a responsibility to help pursue this coalition and root out its leaders for all the pain they have inflicted upon the Riverlands. And with your consent, I would like to serve as my lord father's voice in this court."
Daenerys smiled and Jon pursed his lips for a moment before saying, "You have our leave. I will assign you to Sansa. As she is Mistress of Laws, you may serve under her as one of her top aides and help her in the ongoing investigations. I will also empower you to speak with the voice of House Tully here in King's Landing. I'll send a raven to your father to inform him of such. Welcome back to King's Landing, Catelyn. We're happy to have you."
"You have my wholehearted gratitude, your graces," Catelyn said to the king and queen with a wide smile, and she curtsied for both, though one of her hands continued to hold onto Daenyra's.
Daenyra nodded her head, "Let's get you back to your rooms. It's been a long journey, and you'll have plenty to do besides work with Sansa. I expect the Princess Juliana will wish to have tea or somesuch. Come, I'll send for wine and lemoncakes. We must catch up. So much has happened since last we talked."
The lady of the Riverlands complied with girlish giggles, and allowed herself to be pulled out of the room by the lively dragon princess she had long known and cared for. She gave the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms a last, playfully penitent glance, and she was gone.
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